The Shade of Poison Trees
by Agent Xero
Summary: The very universe that had become their enemy was suddenly at the mercy of hers. Over Here, she was the betrayer, the invader, and the destroyer. Over Here, Olivia Dunham was no hero. This was no longer a war. This was the aftermath... post 3x21, minor AU
1. Aftermath

**Author****'****s ****Note:** Hi! Thanks for stopping by! Those returning, nice to see you! Those new to my stories, welcome! I got this idea after watching 'The Day We Died', and decided to take a little different direction. This story is my interpretation with what happened between the gap of when Peter got into the machine and the end of 3x21. A little AU, but stick with me and I think you'll like it. The rest you'll just have to find out for your own!

Onward, my friends!

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><p><strong>The Shade of Poison Trees<strong>  
>Fanfiction by: Stephanie<br>White Time Ranger

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><p><strong><em>Chapter 1: Aftermath<em>**

_Every war had its casualties. _

They came in all shapes, colors and sizes; of different creeds and beliefs.

Children. Mothers. Brothers. Cousins. Soldiers. Civilians. Lovers. Dreamers. Betrayers.

The spectrum of human loss was immeasurable as the stars, colors skewed from the realm of life with broken streaks of red death and black disaster. There were no more blues, yellows, or greens. Brilliant, life sustaining pastels now drained from existence, washed away by the violent rains of war, leaving behind an empty and blank slate. All that was left was endless dark nights and miles and miles of crimson red rivers. Each loss of life countless and growing as the days continued to tick against all odds. Even the sun burned red, bleeding rays of tinted light through the bellowing, angry clouds above him.

All around him buildings had crumbled and fell like fallen soldiers in the merciless rolling hills, their battlefield whose home ground betrayed them. With each penetrating wave of dismay they fell further, their structures collapsing and falling into one another, beams of concrete for bayonets and metal for bullets, striking and bringing down everything around it with a deafening roar. The ground quaked without pity, angered by the disruption of its peaceful slumber. Pipes burst, mixed with gasses and sent combustible, rushing fires everywhere- hungry, ravenous wolves consuming anything in its reach. Voices screamed in fear as they searched for any dismal speck of safety from the bursts of fiery blue around them, flattening whatever morsel was in its reach, grabbing and tearing, twisting until there was nothing left but a mere memory, scarred against the heated Earth.

In times of war, there was no distinction of human existence. There was no race, no color, and no creed, washed away by a shock wave of atomic destruction. Whites and blacks melted with Orientals and Hispanics, becoming one master race of pure and unaltered chaos and sorrow. There were no more races. No more discrimination. Their faces all burned with the unbelievable loss that caked them in blood and dirt. There was no more religion. Whatever God had existed turned his back on His people as the First Wave washed over, burning and scarring the face of the universe, changing it forever. There was no more fighting among countries or religions. There was no more belief in a higher power.

There was _no __more._

The only fight they could muster was a fight for survival.

Frank Stanton knew this as he stood and hauled yet another mangled body into the growing pile to be identified and sent to their respective families. It was now the chosen workforce for those who had been strong enough after their world was destroyed. This wasn't just a hunt for those who managed to survive, managed to defy all the odds and find someplace to shelter themselves from whatever came from that bright flash of Liberty Island. It lasted for only a few hours but led into four weeks of sheer terror, afraid to find what had hid behind whatever door they lay behind.

There was no more rescue. It was a mission of recovery and of closure to those who sought peace.

Dirt, grime and ice cold blood made his shirt cling to his body. Numb, wet and sticky, he shifted uncomfortably as he lifted the tiny broken body of a boy onto the truck and completed the last of the pile to be transferred. Gently Frank set the boy down as a tear rolled down his face and his hands shook. He knew this boy. God, he _knew_ this innocent victim of war. He lived onto a few houses down the street from him. Last week Frank watched him happily buy an ice cream cone. Now, this day, he closed the petrified boy's lifeless eyes for the last time and said a small prayer to whatever entity would listen.

"God speed," Frank whispered into the yellowish gray haze and turned away as the truck drove over the potted road and pitched ever so slightly as to make the boy seem like he waved good-bye. _'__If__ there__ is __such __a __thing __anymore__…'_

He chose to be a part of this mission. He _chose _to try and make the best of this world they now called home, a broken and cracked word that left no meaning behind. Where it used to mean warmth, safety, family… it now meant death, chaos and terror. His home was _not_ a home. Not anymore. His world was shattered, torn apart at the very fabric that he swore to protect and now rested in sharp, jagged pieces around him.

He swallowed as someone called his name, patting his shoulder to pull him away from the decaying site. Beneath his heels glass and rocked grinded together into a fine, gravely mixture as he patted along, seemingly lifeless. He had seen his own fair share of death in his lifetime, between the incidents at North Texas and even Dakota, but this… this was too real. This life he lived now was _not_ a life.

It was a routine; repetitive, tiring, and mind-numbing routine.

Each morning he would wake, shower and dress with robotic movement that left no emotion in his body. His face, he swore, had frozen to stone the very moment he had awaken after that doomed morning he watched the scattering people, the cries of sorrow and the blast that literally sent a shock wave around the world and destroyed whatever resemblance of existence it touch.

"Frank," called Gabriel as he watched his friend stare at the horizon aimlessly, lost as he gazed across the rapid waters that made up the Hudson, churning and gurgling with such fury it was almost beautiful. "Come on, we've got another section of town to do before noon. They've got one building that they've been able to stabilize, but not for long. We've got to get going."

Frank turned; his hair shaggy and matted clung to his pale cheeks. "I'm coming, just… gimme a second, Gabe."

The Latino man nodded once and turned, leaving Frank to turn back and continue to gaze at the sight before him. The bridge between both sides of New York was completely destroyed, separating Manhattan and the other side. Across the way bellows of smoke and sirens echoed, merging with the gushing waters of the river. On the horizon stood the Twin Towers; they were nothing more than twisted and jagged metal cutting across the skyline as it bled blue. The light dusting of an explosion would grace his ears as a small burst of light shown behind a building. When it first started he'd jump. Now they were ordinary moments in life. If this was just New York, he could only imagine the view from the other side of the world.

In the foreground the shadow of a decapitated and dismembered Statue of Liberty began elongate, a dark blotch designating a time when the human race reigned supreme as it graced the water's edge, turning the already navy blue waters into a black abyss where rusting pieces of copper poked through, the torch sticking out of the waters like a spike in the inky waters.

A once proud marker of freedom and choice rested in rust colored blood, auburn stained pieces; her ideas and representations died with her. Leaving the monument to his back, Frank turned and bowed his head at the fallen monument. There was no more peace. There was no more freedom.

Simply put, there was _nothing._

Not anymore.

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><p><em>Tarrytown, New York<br>10:00pm_

Rolling smoothly on his heels Lincoln carefully pawed around the creaking wood as gently as he could, careful to not disturb the small, feeding bundle in his arms. Angling the bottle to accommodate those miniature lips, Lincoln couldn't help but smile at the baby boy in his arms, his shining inky pearls gazing curiously into Lincoln's blue oceans. Lately he was fascinated by the small, almost microscopic miracles that happened, baby Henry being one of them. He survived the odds not once, but twice in his first two months of life alone, a feat worthy of recognition. Henry adjusted in his arms, his tiny fingers scratching at the lapels of his jacket. Lincoln's heart swelled as he ran his thumb over the bump of the baby's nose.

"Any word?" came the low-toned question of Marilyn Dunham as she came into the living room and walked over to Lincoln and the baby, smoothing the cap on his forehead. "Have you heard from Olivia?"

Lincoln shook his head, eyes still connected with the protruding orbs of the miracle he held proudly in his arms. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Dunham, nothing." He swallowed hard, his attention averting back to Henry. "It's been almost five weeks since I've even heard from her. Five agonizing and grueling weeks."

She huffed, trying to hide the pain in her voice. "That's all it's been? Five weeks? I can't believe it." Marilyn was silent once again, both afraid to speak aloud what thought was running through their heads. Tears welled in her eyes as she thumbed Henry's tiny brows, her hand shaking with the warmth of his skin. Quietly she asked, her heart breaking in her words. "I heard they're only giving the search for those who were missing another two weeks. Is that true?"

Lincoln didn't answer immediately, wanting to avoid the question completely. He drew in a deep, thick breath, adjusting the bottle again as Henry cooed against his chest. "Two weeks," his voice cracked, "Maybe three, given whatever circumstance arises. I'm not giving up though. Olivia's a fighter; wherever she is I'm sure she's trying to find her way back. There's collapsed bridges and sunken roads all over the state." He did his best to avoid her eyes, "I'm sure she's okay." _God, __she __has__ to__ be._

Henry stirred in his arms, pushing the empty bottle away and stretched his tiny fingers. Shifting him again, Lincoln brought him to his shoulder and gently patted his back, cooing to him until a feint, miniscule burp erupted from his mouth, calming the baby once again as he nuzzled against Lincoln's neck, a quick jut of air pressed from his nostrils. He cooed gently before drifting slowly back to sleep.

"Do we know what caused it yet? The wave?" Marilyn asked quietly, wiping her worried tears from her cheeks. "It was nothing I've ever seen before. I mean, sure, there's been cracks, but this… this is something else, Lincoln. People are comparing it to a hydrogen bomb."

Lincoln swallowed. He knew the truth, but even he was forbidden to speak of it. "What we believe," he choked on his lie, "is that it's just like the other Fringe events. Holes tearing, but for whatever reason this one was more destructive. It didn't cave inward, instead it expelled energy. We… don't know what caused it, that's still under investigation."

Marilyn nodded, bringing her hand over her racing heart. "How many dead?"

Again, he shifted his gaze, his eyes cast on the small, downy hairs on the baby's cranium. "From what I hear… in the state alone there are over fifty-thousand deaths. Country wide? Millions. Missing? Even more." Rubbing Henry's back again the baby burped, nuzzling himself against Lincoln's shoulder. Lincoln pressed a gentle kiss to the baby's temple as he felt Henry's breathing increase, signifying he was once again asleep. "But there are miracles."

Olivia's mother smiled a tearful and sorrow-ridden smile. "There are miracles," she echoed, bringing Henry's hat down further onto his head, rubbing the sleeping baby's back. "There are _definitely _miracles." Silence. "You're very good with him, Lincoln."

Lincoln smiled up at her, placing a soft kiss on the baby's temple. "I guess it's just that natural parent instinct. Besides, he's Olivia's. She'd kill me if I wasn't."

At the mention of her missing daughter's name Marilyn smile faded, clouded by a growing fear of the whereabouts of her daughter. Five weeks had flow by since the day of the… _incident. _Five terrifying and seemingly countless weeks of not knowing where Olivia was, if she was safe or hurt. There was no way of knowing. The phones were down, roads, bridges and almost any means of transportation were destroyed. She and Henry had barely even managed to get into the old cellar in the backyard before the first wave hit. Three hours she spent clutching her grandson for dear life and simply praying for it to end. When it did, the phenomenon was all too real.

She was one of the lucky ones; her house was at least somewhat habitable. Others, not so much. Entire families, generations worth were gone in the blink of an eye. While the second story of her house was completely gone, she was able to salvage a bedroom, some clothes, and even a few supplies for Henry. When help finally came she was all too grateful.

Taking Henry from Lincoln, Marilyn smiled towards the baby in her arms as he fussed, making faces and rocking him into a deeper sleep. "Thank you, Lincoln, for stopping by and letting me know. If you hear anything-"

Lincoln gave her a subtle kiss on the cheek and stared affectionately at Henry. "You'll be the first to know, Mrs. Dunham, you have my word." Without another word he left, carefully stepping down the cracked concrete steps and headed towards his battered SUV. By some miracle it still worked, one of the few Fringe Division vehicles that survived the wormhole. The drive home was like it normally was. Silent, dark and hauntingly lonely. His apartment was destroyed in the blast, everything he had was gone. By some chance the Fringe Division Headquarters wasn't completely destroyed, giving him the option to bunk up there along with Charlie and a few other Agents who were without homes.

Pulling into the parking lot he exited, not even bothering to lock the door. Had someone wanted to steal the piece of junk he'd let them. Trekking up the stairs he was more than happy to find an office- now his make-shift bedroom still in one piece. That truly was the best news he'd received all day. Kicking off his shoes and changing into a pair of sweat pants, Lincoln closed his light and curled into the lumpy cot that was his bed. With a deep sigh he tried to find a comfortable spot lying on his left.

On the box in front of him sat the shadow of a picture frame. In it was him, Charlie and Olivia, one of the few pictures he was able to save before the fires broke out. His lip trembled as his breath hitched in his chest, simply looking at the picture. Olivia's bright, smiling face stared back at him, that moment frozen in time. With a trembling hand his finger rubbed over the shattered glass, his mouth running dry and silent tears fell. Every day he prayed he'd see her. Every single day was agony in the mystery of if she was alive or buried underneath a pile of rubble. Every night before he went to bed, before leaving his reality and waking into another, he would whisper words of sweet love and hope. He'd fall asleep with her name on his lips, a prayer in his heart and the words in his mind when he'd see her again. It'd take a miracle to find her, he knew. But Lincoln wouldn't give up hope in believing Olivia was still alive.

Miracles, after all, sometimes did come true.

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><p><em>Over Here<em>

_Brighton, MA, June 2011_

A warm summer wind blew through the curtains ever so gently, rustling the bottom flairs and pushing them gently into the bedroom. A kiss of morning swept across Peter Bishop's face as he slept soundly, tucked comfortably beneath a light sheet, the pillow molded around his face perfectly. He groaned as the rising sunlight sneaked past the window rail and forced itself onto his closed eyes, illuminating the comfortable night with a piercing white and purple light. He squinted in any effort to stay asleep. It would figure the _one_ weekend he had off he would awake way before his alarm would sound. He rolled over, finding a comfortable spot once again on his stomach and curled his arm around his pillow.

On the brink of his hearing he heard a door on the other side of the wall open, the squishy patting of wet footsteps on wood and the soft pluck of an acoustic guitar just beyond the wall. He rested precariously on the edge of sleep and consciousness, both fighting one another for his focused attention. A swift motion counteracted the breeze that blew across his bare back, followed promptly with a soft scent of strawberries and Dove soap. Opening his eyes he blinked as a pair of wet foot prints tracked towards the dresser that sat opposite the wall of the bed. He stole a quick glance at the clock as it blinked just past eleven in the morning. Rolling onto his side he blinked the sleep from his eyes and placed his hands behind his head, smiling from ear to ear.

The irresistible Olivia Dunham stood before him in nothing more than a deep red towel and her own beautiful skin as she rummaged through her drawers and pulled out her undergarments, laying them on the chair next to the dresser. She moved towards her closet and pulled the doors open and began to task of pulling her clothes out for the day. She chose an unusual pair of tan khakis and an emerald green t-shirt, his favorite in her collection of shirts. It was the one that made her eyes simply glow a beautiful, soft sea green.

Effortlessly she slipped on the black bra and underwear making Peter quietly pout, followed by her pants and socks. Rustling the towel through her hair her phone began to buzz on the opposite side of where Peter lay in her bed.

"_Please _don't tell me that's Broyles," Peter groaned lazily into his pillow, "It's supposed to be our weekend off. We've got three years of vacation time saved up; it's about time we _actually_ get to use it."

Olivia chuckled and shook her head. "It's Rachel, actually. Ella's been packed for weeks looking forward to tomorrow. Ecstatic sounds more like it," she grinned as the messages kept popping up, making her giggle. "I think letting Ella use Rachel's phone to text message was an adorable mistake." Sitting on her side of the bed Olivia's fingers flew expertly across the keyboard as she caught up on the dozen or so messages that Ella sent and grinned as she pictured Ella's face in her head. Placing her phone on the table she twisted and leaned over, planting a light kiss on Peter's lips, the warm tingle of cinnamon still lingering on her lips.

"Ymm," Peter moaned approvingly as she parted, "Good morning to you too," he said, licking his lips, "New toothpaste?"

She smirked at him. "Sad you know that off hand, you know that?"

Peter grinned. "Well there's a lot that I know off hand," he said as he looped his arm around her bare waist and pulled her down into the sheets, kissing her again and felt her smile against his skin. Pinning her shoulders beneath his Peter adjusted until it was just his bare chest against the miniscule fabric on hers, his hands venturing down her sides as he felt her twitch, "And there's a lot I know on hand," he kissed her again as Olivia's arms wrapped around the strong muscles of his shoulder.

Olivia raised an inquisitive eyebrow, "_Like_?"

She had to ask and Peter happily obliged to give the answer. "Like," he kissed her again, walking his fingers across the skin of her lower abdomen. She laughed as he hit one incredibly ticklish spot just below her navel. "I know _exactly_ what makes you…"

She cut him off as she kissed him again, "You're a pervert, Peter."

"I was going to say _laugh,_Olivia," he muttered against her lips, "So whose mind is in the gutter now?"

Olivia poked an accusing finger into his chest. "I know _exactly_ what you were going to say, Peter Bishop, and if it were any other morning I don't think either us of would be dressed at this point. However…" Peter groaned as she pushed him up off of her and onto his back.

"I _hate _that word."

She playfully slapped his shoulder, "I have some things I need to take care of before Ella and Rachel get here. You can tag along or spend the afternoon with your father."

Peter propped himself up once again, his rough cheek resting on her leg, "Well Walter and Astrid are finding plenty to entertain themselves with today, so looks like you're stuck with me for the day, sweetheart."

Olivia bit her lip, tossing him a playful glance over her shoulder, "Pity to be me then," At the widening of Peter's eyes she jumped from the bed, running just beyond Peter's fingers as he reached out for her. Glancing back she laughed seeing the fascination on his face. Throwing the sheets over his side followed her into the kitchen, sweeping her back into his arms as she pulled two mugs from the cabinet.

It had been one month since he stepped out of the machine. One month since he had made the decision to save this universe; the universe he was proud to call _his,_a decision he cherished each and every morning the sun rose above the horizon. Out of everything he had done in his life, this felt _right._ Walter was alive and well. Astrid was beginning to flourish as an FBI Agent. But most importantly, Olivia, _his _Olivia was in his arms once again, as bright and beautiful as ever. Having finally overcome the demons of her past, she opened her heart fully. It was easier to enjoy life then to fight it, she decided. That was a decision Peter was content with.

As she turned around in his arms again and cupped his cheeks he felt her smile again as he kissed her, a never-ending drink he could never get enough of. It was just him; just her; just… _them_ standing barely dressed in her kitchen, hands roaming their nearly bare bodies as the coffee percolated in the corner, a delicious morning treat that left Peter with a singular thought roaming his mind.

He could get used to this.

Her lips lingered for a second more, her eyes gazing lovingly into his as he moved- his target one taunting crevice of her neck. "You hungry?"

Peter huffed against the skin of her neck. "I _am_ hungry, but not for breakfast."

Olivia laughed, trying to sound stern, an impossible task against the movement of his lips. "Peter, no."

"Please?" He captured her lips again, feeling her smile again.

"_No!_"

"Later?"

She raised an eyebrow, her fingers tracing small circles at the base of his neck. "If you're good, _maybe._"

"You make me sound like a kid in a supermarket waiting for his surprise at the end of the trip." With one final kiss and a lip at his, he sighed, agreeing. "I'll take a maybe. In fact, changed my mind. Eggs?" Olivia laughed kindheartedly, pressing her forehead to his chest as Peter left her arms and walked over to her refrigerator and pulled out half a carton of eggs and bacon. "Go finish getting dressed, I'll cook."

"Ha!" she exclaimed, her eyes widening, "First you were just _begging me_ to get undressed now you're ushering me towards my closet. Am I the only one who sees the irony in this?" Walking away from Peter she continued to laugh as she pulled a shirt over her head and ran a comb through her hair, making Peter roll his eyes as he heated the skillet, mixing the yolks and grinned.

"Since when are you such a smart ass?" He called, "I thought that was my bid."

Pouring the mixture into the skillet the liquid began to sizzle and congeal into puffy yellow morsels that made Peter's mouth water. The song playing on the radio in the living room changed, sending a soft twang through the living room, the sun rising higher into the sky and illuminating the doors in her kitchen that lead to the small balcony that overlooked the streets. He grabbed two plates and silverware, setting them on the table as he grabbed a cup of coffee, sipping it contently. Bacon began to sizzle and steam deliciously.

"I figured you could use some competition." She responded from across the room, "You're not the only one who can think of smart remarks on the fly."

Peter laughed, pouring another cup of coffee for her. It felt so _natural_, he thought. Just him, just her in her apartment enjoying a springy summer morning.

He could _definitely_ get used to this…

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><p><em>Reviews welcome! Chapter 2 coming soon! <em>


	2. The Witching Hour

**Author's Note: **thank you all who reviewed, and to those who have read! I'm glad to see you all enjoyed chapter one, makes me smile! If you haven't left me a review I'd greatly appreciate it if you did, they make the world go round! With that, I present chapter two!

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><p><strong>The Witching Hour<strong>

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><p><strong>Over There<strong>

_June 2011_  
><em>02:00pm<em>

Of course it was raining, he mused bleakly. That's all it ever seemed to do nowadays. There were no such things as sunny skies in the world despite the heated rays that fell from the heavens. Even on cloudless days the Earth always seemed to cry. Today was definitely one of _those_ days. Black, billowing clouds added to the gray scale landscape that sat just beyond the crack in his office window. Silver rain drops pelted the glass, casting watery shadows across his pale cheeks as he gazed across the saddened sky. Between the drumming of the thunder and the electric crash of lightening, for a minute moment Lincoln forgot where he was. White streaks of purple-white lightning split the sky in two, tearing and ripping apart before him. It cracked through the cotton clouds, sheering them to luminous shreds and called upward towards the high heavens with a scream in its own unique pitch of both anguish and pleasure. Arching back in his chair Lincoln let a heavy sigh escape his chest as he glanced across the broken skyline of what used to be his home.

Another week had passed without a speck of good news. To add to the horror of what they had witnessed, reports were finally coming in from all parts of the world. Global destruction, it was being described, had wiped the Earth clean of its most beloved features. Stonehenge was reduced to just pebbles. The great theater in Sydney was destroyed and lost to a raging sea. The pyramids in Egypt were broken and crumbling. Even their own famed monument, the Statue of Liberty, a figure of pride, power and freedom was rooted to the Earth, chained by the murky waters surrounding them. She was no more, cut down to size, dismembered and scattered across the inky rivers. Great bridges and walls fell like they were made of wet plastic, cracked and left to mold.

A tear came to Lincoln's face as he reflected at the new skyline; jagged pieces of twisted metal that he used to get lost in now cut his memories to pieces. Swallowing hard he turned away from the dark clouds and returned to the file on his desk that he now read by candlelight. Whatever files they were able to scour after the floods he had been combing through to try and find some sort of remedy for this distorted chaos. Food was scarce and water was untrustworthy, two of the more vital elements that kept the human race alive were slowly killing it.

"Hey Linc," called a voice through his non-existent door. Charlie Francis leaned casually against the cracked door frame with an unfamiliar pad of paper in his hand, an object he hadn't touched since kindergarten. It brought a small smile to Lincoln's face watching his colleague maneuver the rough edges of paper. "Reports from the collections yesterday are in, and what we could find in storage is on the floor. It's not much, but it's a start."

Lincoln forced a smile. "Thanks, Charlie." They both fell silent again, eyes falling on the skewed picture on his desk. "Have you spoken to Marilyn at all?"

Charlie sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. "I drove down to see her this morning. She's hanging in there and the baby's doing fine, although from the looks of it she's going to need to evacuate that house soon, the foundation's starting to go. I'm trying to see if we cans secure her a room here. Any luck on your current project?"

Lincoln leaned forward, the metal bars on his chair squeaked noisily. "No. I'm still trying to figure out a solution to present to the Secretary but I can't think of any. There are too many variables, and even Astrid is having a hard time calculating it all it. I've tried to run what data I could recover but with no power it's useless. Whatever caused the wave is still a God-damned enigma," he threw the pencil down, a useless tool he had almost forgotten how to use. "We don't know what happened. One person who does refuses to speak of it and the other… is still missing."

At the second mention of their missing comrade, Charlie and Lincoln fell silent, a single silent prayer spread between the two of them. "Any leads on where she is? I know you've been pestered about it enough, but the deadline-"

"I know the deadline's coming, Charlie!" Lincoln hollered, "I've had search teams scouring everywhere to try and find her! We can't get across to Manhatan, and parts of Liberty Island are too unstable to search." He sighed, his head falling into his palms as he muttered. "I shouldn't have let her go alone."

Charlie placed his hands on Lincoln's defeated shoulders. "You couldn't have know, Lincoln. You couldn't have predicted that her attempt to cross to over would have lead to this. We tore Liberty Island apart and she wasn't there, and the Secretary refuses to speak of it. She's not dead. Liv's a fighter and we all know that. She's probably on the other side of the river trying to figure out a way to get back home like we are. We'll find her before the deadline. I know you will."

Lincoln nodded. "There has been… _one_ solution I have thought of. But it's not likely going to be accepted, let alone make it past proposal."

Charlie's face scrunched. "Care to share with the class?"

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><p><em>New Department of Defense<br>Fringe Division, upper level_

"Out of the question!" growled the Secretary. "I will _not _bend and ask those _buffoons_ for help! That idea is just as offensive as it is repulsing, Captain."

Lincoln bowed his head, trying to keep his composure as his hands locked tighter behind his back. "But Sir, it's the only logical thing we can do. Our defense networks are down, and our resources are destroyed. Our people, _your __people,_ are suffering! _Your__ grandson_ is suffering because of what happened! We don't know what caused the wave and you refuse to give me _any_ information to work with! You keep saying they are not to be trusted, but we don't have time to worry about trust or not. If the other side truly wanted us destroyed I'm sure they would have crossed over and finished the job." Lincoln drew in a deep breath.

Walter Bishop turned around, his brow low and furious. "Our side was destroyed because of what they did, Captain, and I will not let them come in and save us out of pity."

Lincoln raised his chin high. "Mr. Secretary, we don't have time for semantics and pride, our side is _dying._ If asking the other side for help is what it takes to get us back on our feet I think it's a risk we need to take. Perhaps they're not the monsters you make them out to be, Sir. When the other Agent Dunham came to our side she had no means for destruction. I could see it in her eyes. She was kindhearted and a good person, much like our Agent Dunham here. It's worth a shot, Sir; we've got _nothing_ to lose." He swallowed, "Some of us have lost it all already."

He glanced at them once again as he stepped back in front of the window in silence once again. A moment later he turned around menacingly slow, his voice firm, and his back towards Lincoln again. "And what, Captain, are the advantages to this idea you propose, enlighten me."

"Closure," Charlie stepped forward, "For those whose loved ones are found but not identified, and those who are lost and won't be found. Let those who are mourning have the knowledge to know they can stop looking. The bodies we've pulled, we can't identify a majority of them because we don't have that ability anymore. Our computers are worthless. Asking for help can only aide in that process. We can ask for assistance with food, water, and help build shelters. Get those who are sick the help they need to avoid an epidemic."

Lincoln nodded. "The smallpox outbreak in North Texas is only getting worse, I've heard from a reliable source. The Avian flu is also starting to surface as is some diseases that are new. Our medical facilities aren't equipped to handle the possible new diseases and with hospitals down it's only a matter of time before this becomes a worldwide pandemic. They have medical care that can help avoid an outbreak that could very well wipe our world out completely. I'm sure if we asked they'd be willing to help if we asked for it."

With his back still towards them, Walter spoke again; too proud to admit what he knew had to be done. "Like I said, _Agent_ Lee, we will _not _be asking the other side for help. I will not stoop to such a level from those worms. Find another way to help, Captain. For now, you're dismissed," he spat low.

Lincoln bowed his head with defeat and said nothing. Slowly him and Charlie backed out and left quickly. Walter stood alone once again, his eyes turned once again towards the shattered city as the storm continued to rage overhead.

* * *

><p><strong>Over Here<strong>

_June 2011  
>06:00pm<em>

Sipping her glass of wine Rachel smiled as she walked across the foyer of the Bishop's house and laughed aloud. Clouds of flour poofed into the air and settled across the broad shoulders of Peter and toothless grin of Ella as they stood in the kitchen, laughing and giggling. The mouth-watering scent of baked chicken, potatoes, corn and savory scent of cooked basil and parsley was enough to make her stomach growl under her hungry pretense. Glancing towards Olivia, who gathered the silverware from a nearby drawer, she rolled her eyes and chuckled at the sight before her.

"Now, stir, like this," Peter said as he whisked the flour, eggs and milk together in the bowl, his wrist flicking quickly around the rims. "The trick is blending everything together so that there are no clumps of flour. If the batter isn't the right consistency then the cookie dough will be all lumpy. Except for the chips, of course, but that's a different story."

Ella stood on the stool between Peter's arms and grabbed the whisk from him as he held the bowl, her tiny hands cranking the metal object around in arm length circles, a happy grin on her toothless smile. "When do we add the chocolate chips?" Opening a cabinet next to them Olivia grinned at her niece and pulled five plates from the shelf.

Rachel chimed in as Olivia handed her the plates and swiftly picked up her glass of wine. "_After _dinner, Ella Jay," Rachel called, "Any before and you'd ruin what Peter and his father both slaved to make. It is your favorite after all."

Olivia sipped her own glass. "Oh come off your high horse, Rach, you and I would always sneak treats before dinner. It'd drive Mom absolutely crazy." With Rachel's back turned Ella opened her mouth and Peter slipped a few of the semi-sweet morsels in as she chewed quickly, the remaining handful dropped into his own mouth. They grinned secretly at one another and allowed the smooth chocolate to melt before daring to talk again, their secret revealed instantly of a chocolate coated word was uttered.

"None for me?" Olivia teased Ella in a quiet whisper, "I _am_ keeping your secret after all."

Placing a chip delicately on his lips Peter turned to her and chuckled, earning a loud giggle from the small girl. Plucking it from its perch Olivia popped the morsel into her mouth as Peter pouted. "That's not what I had in mind." She smiled and reached up, placing a gentle, chocolate coated kiss on his lips. "Better," he said and returned his smile as she went to stir the spaghetti.

Returning from the hallway closet Walter pulled his towel from his shoulder and checked on the dish in the oven. Nodding with satisfaction he closed it and shuffled towards Ella and Peter. "You know, when Peter and I used to make cookies we'd add marshmallows. They were simply delectable; crisped and chewy to absolute perfection. Washed down with a cold glass of chocolate milk… oh that takes me back."

Ella cocked her head at Walter. "Doesn't that kind of _not _make them chocolate chip cookies?"

"Ella!" Rachel exclaimed as she set the table, but Walter waved her off.

Walter winked towards the girl. "They were a Bishop family specialty for the holidays and not _just_ for every day consumption, my dear. Instead of chocolate chips we'd use red and green M&Ms. On they were quite delicious, Mrs. Bishop's secret recipe," Walter smiled at Peter. "And Peter's favorite around the holiday season."

From next to her sister Olivia grinned, taking another swig of wine, "At least he's not telling that embarrassing story of when Peter was younger and got his-"

"Enough!" exclaimed Peter with wide eyes as Ella glanced upward at him.

Walter laughed, "Despite the outcome, the vacuum still worked, although Peter wouldn't go near it for a month, much like a dog. Looking back on it, it was rather humorous."

"For you, maybe," Peter said as he and Ella spooned globs of cookie dough onto a tray, "I was still cringe when one of those damned things turns on."

Ella glanced upward at Peter and giggled once again, another doughy spoonful fell into the tray, "Earmuffs?"

He shook his head, "No, no earmuffs required, kiddo," he glanced at Olivia as she sat down, "Don't worry I'll get your Aunt back for that later."

"How?" she asked.

Peter chuckled as he glanced at Olivia, "Oh don't worry, I'm sure she won't see it coming."

* * *

><p><em>Midnight<em>

Above her the night sky was sprinkled with stars. Millions upon millions of tiny, glowing orbs illuminated the vast black velvet blanket she found herself tucked under as she simply looked upon the spectacle before her. It went on for miles and miles beyond what her innocent eyes could see, and even further in the realm of her imagination. Pointing a finger towards the heavens her eyes glowed with fascination as she pointed towards the black glass carefully as to not break the beauty before her. There was no confined depth, length, volume to the cosmic landscape before her. It all simply existed on the same ration that beyond the sky there was _something __else_. The mystery alone of what it could possibly be out there was purely astonishing. Smiling, Ella continued to gaze as across the milky atmosphere and into the stars, reflected in the deep pools of her small brown eyes, oblivious to the perils of the world around her.

Lying supine next to her on the soft Earth was Walter; his legs crossed and head resting on a patch of grass, a smile on his face. "You see that one right there? That's the Big Dipper, Ursa Major- the Big Bear. Follow the stars to the right up a ways and you'll see the Little Dipper, Ursa Minor- the Little Bear," said Walter as he traced the outline with his finger, Ella curled up curiously at his side in bewilderment. "On the end of the Little Dipper is the north star. Hundreds years before us, before the technology we have today, explorers would use the stars as their map, their guide to find the world that lay beyond the vast oceans. They believed that when all hope was lost, one could find their way home by using the North Star."

Ella turned to him. "They believed a _star_ could bring them home?"

Walter nodded. "Yes, a star, for you see it designated north. No matter the location they could always find it because of its radiance, the sheer _beauty_ of the constellation could lead them home and restore hope when all seemed lost. An elementary fact in itself but magical nonetheless, just like the night. They say that around midnight is the witching hour."

Her tiny eyes began to glow brighter than the heavens. "Witching hour? Like ghosts?" With her curiosity peaked Ella sat up from her grassy perch and leaned on her elbows.

He smiled to her. "Not necessarily ghosts, but a time when the rules of reality cease to exist," He grabbed a handful of dirt and turned to her, his voice low and majestic, "and the unimaginable can happen- almost like…," he blew the dirt into the slow wind as it began to somehow glitter with enchantment, "_magic._" Fascination carved itself into her inky eyes as she watched the dirt disappear into the atmosphere, vanishing like smoke.

"Alright you two you've star-gazed enough tonight as it is," Rachel said as she trekked through the grass, "You can watch more tomorrow. For now it's bed time." Ella went to open her mouth but Rachel cut her off, "Save the stories for tomorrow night." Rolling her eyes Ella stood and waited for Walter to follow suit, her tiny hand slipping into his rough palm as she smiled at him, her legs pumping to match his stride as Rachel stepped inside the house behind them and blew a kiss towards Olivia and Peter as they reclined on the old futon that rested at the edge of the patio.

A gentle wind blew into the night as the light behind them closed, leaving them alone in the calm, dark night. Peter rocked against the lumpy cushion and smoothed it out, his shoulders relaxing into the inclination. Wrapping his arm around Olivia's shoulders Peter couldn't help but smile. "Those two are becoming a dangerous pair, Walter and Ella. Although I just hope his talk of ghosts won't scare her."

Olivia chuckled as she pressed herself against his side and curled into the blanket he pulled over them, her own body nuzzled into the crook of his shoulder; her arm resting lazily across his stomach as they reclined and gazed upward towards the glassy sky. "On the contrary, she finds that stuff absolutely fascinating. That's what scares Rachel," she yawned with a laugh, "Do you believe it? Ghosts?"

He shrugged, "I believe that if I can see it and feel it, it has to be real. If not it's just a figment of my imagination. It's how I got over my fear of monsters under my bed. I built up courage to crawl underneath there with a flashlight and found that what I thought to be a monster was actually an old sweater of Walter's. There was nothing there; the figments I saw were exactly that- projections and nothing more. They weren't real. But the things we've seen I know are real. Like this," he motioned between the two of them, his fingers brushing the soft skin of her lips, "Us. This, this is real."

"And how do you know this isn't all just a dream that you're going to wake up from?" she asked with half-moon eyes.

Lifting his fingers underneath her chin Peter bent down and kissed her, enjoying the taste of wine and whiskey on her lips, "Because _you_ are here. I can feel you, hear you, see you, taste you, and if my mind is playing tricks then so be it, I'm going to live this dream until the very end. I'm in this for the long run, Olivia."

Olivia smiled at him, "You get really romantic when you drink a little too much," she chuckled against his neck, "I like it."

"Well you should see what I can do when I'm smashed. Your mind will be _blown_."

He laughed as he curled his body around hers, his lips falling to hers like a shooting star, land marking his way home. He felt her smile beneath his lips as he caressed her cheek gently, their kiss sinking deeper and deeper. Above them a sudden shower of meteors began to glide through the atmosphere, illuminating the purple velvet above them. His fingers danced over her body in a delicate ballet as they sunk lower and lower beneath the blanket, curious hands following heated hearts on a cool summer's eve. Some of what Walter said, Peter knew was true. The magic did happen after midnight.

For weeks after he turned on the machine Peter wondered if he had made the right decision, lost in a forest of towering trees and unfriendly landscapes of his own indecision. For what felt like decades he rolled among hills that were so familiar and yet, frighteningly foreign. But like the explorers, when all hope seemed lost, in front of him he found his North Star after years of searching. Those secret feelings of abandon, loss and questionable existence sudden became clear and crisp- he had Olivia to thank for that. She had led him home; she was his inspiration for hope and his guidance back to humanity.

Words ceased to exist as they sunk lower into the cushion, creating another memory to hold on to. Beneath a cosmic explosion of stars they made love, slow and smooth as two souls often would, oblivious to the world around and above; the only audible sounds were the crickets around them, the creek of the old wood and the beating of their hearts. This night, like many, would be forever imprinted into their memories, a single thread of hope to hold onto; to represent that in times of darkness there was always a pathway towards the light.

Standing on a distant hill stood a man, his skin pale as the moon, his face neutral with emotion. Taking in the moment once again September raised his chin and gazed towards the bright night sky. In an instant he was gone, with nothing around him but the iridescent stars shimmering overhead.

* * *

><p><strong>Over There<strong>

_Midnight_

Thunder grumbled across the skyline once again as the rain cast wet shadows across the weeping city. All was quiet once again as the efforts of the day died off and left the city to quietly mourn once again. There were no dogs barking, no car doors slamming, not even the tick of a clock in the empty hallways. Everything sat still, frozen, immortalized in what felt like a pause in time. All was still before him- baron, abandoned and deserted as the echo of the storm continued to rage upon the broken city. Walter sat straight in his chair as he watched the rain pummel the window pane as he tried to imagine the sky beyond the clouds- crisp, clear and sprinkled with stars. All he seemed to do these days was live in darkness, the shadows of the night crept slowly across the floor and up the walls, dousing him in a shroud of never-ending black. His lips pressed tightly together, his brows sat low and curious as he silently cursed the souls on the other side. They couldn't possibly understand what chaos and pure hell they were living, all the while they sat in bliss, unaware of the terrors they had created.

The feeling of failure was not something Walter was used to. He had built an imperial fortress around the theft of his son; he took an oath to defend his country against threats that could jeopardize their harmony, their peace. In the blink of an eye that was torn apart, ripped to shreds by the one force he believed could heal the wounds of his world. The past five weeks had flown by without a second's glance. In that small time frame little progress had been made. The technology they found comfort in had suddenly become the cause of their demise and their inability to fix the damage that had been caused. As Walter stared across the black city with icy eyes one question replayed over in his head, a never-ending mantra he was sure would drive him mad.

How could a man of such _power_, of such _prestige_ suddenly become that _powerless_?

A small voice echoed against the dark corners of his office. "Mr. Secretary," Brandon Fayette interjected from the doorway and bowed his head once. Giving a wordless permission for entry Brandon stepped forward, his heels clicking sharply against the floor. "A word, if you will."

"What can I do for you, Brandon? Have we made any progress?" asked Walter, his back still turned and his eyes dark.

Brandon shook his head, "No, I'm unhappy to admit, but something else. I couldn't help but over hear your conversation earlier with Agents Lee and Francis. If I may interject an idea," Spinning around slowly in his chair, Brandon crossed his arms neatly against his torso. "December 7th, 1941. The Chinese attacked the United States and brought us into World War II. They were hosting a false alliance, pretending to talk of peace agreements. It was one of the most famous treaties in our nation's history," said Brandon, "And the ultimate weapon that lead to our downfall."

"Your point?" Walter grumbled impatiently.

"In our talks, Sir, you've asked me to find a way to help our world, but I propose another idea. Take Captain Lee up on his offer, let him and Agent Francis cross over and ask for help. Create a stable doorway between the worlds. Trust, Mr. Secretary, is our ally. _Trust _is what can save our world." A sinister shadow fell over Brandon's face, "You said it yourself; _the__ girl_ was what tore Peter from his home, who was the root for our universe's destruction. _This_ is Peter's universe. Perhaps he should know what he's done to his people, to those who have made sacrifices so he could live." He paused. "Think about it, sir." Before leaving Brandon stepped forward and placed an envelope on Walter's desk.

Walter sat still for a moment and reflected on what Brandon had said, his brilliant mind turning over slowly. His eyes fell upon the stained, folded envelope before him. Reaching for it he grasped the rough paper and slid his finger beneath the flap, the glue coming undone easily. Inside was a photograph, bent and burnt but still intact, and the kindle he found to finally bring life back to his soul. Fire ripped through his icy veins, turning his blood into a scorching liquid that ignited the burnt ashes from deep within, the blue leaked from his eyes and replaced with a fiery, fierce red that set his face in stone. It was at that very moment he knew what the course of action to take was.

Indeed, he was not a lover of war. But this was a different war, he was convinced, and should be fueled on the need for survival, for love, and sanity. But as Walter stood and overlooked the storming city none of those precious words came to mind except for one. It was sinister in its own accord and the only thing that remained on Walter's mind as the moon began to rise behind the violent clouds. It wasn't _just _a war against the human race, for survival, and for love.

It was a war for _revenge_…

* * *

><p><em>Reviews are wonderful and much appreciated! Chapter three coming soon! <em>


	3. Horizons

Author's Note:Hello my friends, apologies galore for abandoning you for months! My new job had consumed practically every ounce of spare time I had, but alas with a free day I finally found some time to get another chapter done! I do hope it won't take me two months again! I'm hoping to update "Crossroads" soon as well, bear with me!

Reviews welcome from anyone still reading! I hope this was worth the wait!

* * *

><p><strong>Horizons<strong>

**Over There**

For the third time tonight Lincoln felt like he was falling. Foot after foot, second after second he found himself in a dark abyss and in a helpless nosedive that left him spiraling out of control, his fingers causing small streaks of clouds as he continued to plummet faster and faster. Wind shrieked past his ears, howling like a wolf as the wind nipped at his skin, the teeth of the atmosphere was enough to make his eyes tear in pain and sorrow. This wasn't the first dream Lincoln had had of this. He knew where he was falling towards. It was the same dream over and over, his mind stuck on an endless replay of the day before his world ended.

"_Hey Linc," came the blurry voice of an angel. Opening his eyes Lincoln found himself once again rooted into the ground, his boots planted as the woman before him materialized. As always, he found himself standing in her apartment. It was dim, but unusually bright. Quickly he scanned the room for the location of the voice. Footsteps echoed near the two closed doors of her bedroom. He knew what would happen next and deep inside his heart smiled. It was always her smell he'd sense first; a rustic, yet immensely feminine perfume Olivia wore always made his mouth water. Next it was her eyes; those wide green orbs would cut through the fog in his mind and look deep into his soul. _

_Lincoln felt his heart stop as once again, for the third time that night, Olivia appeared before him. "Hey," he'd whisper with a smile. _

_She grinned- that classic Olivia-grin. "Hey to you too. Where have you been?" _

"_I could as you the same thing, Liv," he would say, choking back. "What happened to you?" _

"_Is Henry safe?" Olivia would ask, always avoiding his questions. Lincoln gave no reply simply pressed his lips together and bowed his head. "Lincoln," she'd say, her head cocked slightly towards one side. Lincoln knew that look. _

_He nodded, "Yes, he's with your mother. We moved her into your office at Headquarters. He's got a ton of people watching out for him, and your mother. They're safe." _

_Olivia would always smile. "I knew I could trust you Lincoln," she'd whisper and kiss his cheek. "Thank you." Her question that came next would always break his heart, turn his brain into mush and his emotions liquefy in a cascade of tears. "What's wrong, Linc? I've never seen you cry." _

_He could feel his body shake, frozen despite the warmth of her apartment. Licking his try lips he brought his gaze back up to hers. "You," he whispered, quivers racking his voice in his throat. "I should have gone with you. I s-shou-"_

_Her warm hands cupped his pale cheeks. "Lincoln James Lee, you listen to me." She would be so close, so close where he could almost taste her. Slowly he'd raise his hands over hers, her cold fingers circling the stubble on his chin. "None of this, I repeat, none of this is your fault. I chose this fate. I chose it, and I left you behind because I know you're the one person who can protect Henry, protect my mother, and who can protect our universe." It was always at this part he'd begin to cry, sobs pouring like sour honey. "Lincoln, honey, listen to me," she said, bringing his face eye level with hers; his tear stricken, blood shot eyes connected with hers. "When Henry was born you made me a promise. No matter the cost you'd protect him, so please. Let me go, Lincoln. He needs you more than I do." _

_He swallowed hard, his throat running drier and drier. "I can't Liv," he whispered into her palms, his lips grazing her soft, tender skin, "I can't." _

"_Yes you can," she restated, her voice firmer. "You have to. For Charlie, for my mother, and for Henry. Let me go, Lincoln. You promised to take care of them. So promise me again, Linc, and never let go of that promise." _

_He held his breath as he felt his blood turn to ice. "I love you, Liv," he'd always whisper. _

_The ending was always the same. She'd smile and press a kiss towards his forehead, a soft chuckle echoed in his hears. Encasing his trembling body in her arms Olivia would never stop smiling as he felt her disappear, her voice drifting past his ears in three final, fatal words. _

"_Never let go…" _

Jolting from his sleep Lincoln drew in a hot, sharp breath. Calming his raging heart he sat up and immediately hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees as he cried into the night. It wasn't enough to remember those last few minutes with her, the years of anguish and protectiveness he felt was despairing, a mission he had been secretly granted and he failed at. He promised to protect her and each night, each time he visited her again should have been a blessing. Instead it was a nightmare. The guilt, the despair he felt over losing her was enough to drive him insane. He'd awake each night wracked with sobs, the stress of the day unrolling like a waterfall.

He should have never let her go.

Pounding his fist into the sheets he threw his head back and stared into the dark corners of his room, another wave of guilty washed over him. His body shook, his lungs burned and his muscles ached. Whispering her name into the navy blue walls he ran his fingers through his hair and threw himself back into control. It wasn't until the pounding in his head stopped did he hear a baby cry off into the distance. At first it was hard to place; after a few moments of listening he knew where it was coming from instantly.

Slipping into his shorts and a t-shirt Lincoln stood stiffly and exited his bedroom-slash-office and made the short trek down the hallway, the crying grew louder. With a hand trailing on the wall he finally came to the door he knew Henry resided behind. Gently he twisted the handle to see the baby wriggling in his crib, his hands and feet wildly thrashing. Before Lincoln could process the information he picked up the small child and cradled him in his arms. Instantly Henry quieted, his tiny fingers wrapped around Lincoln's finger and brought it to his lips, closing his gums around it and began to suck.

"Did you have a bad dream too?" whispered Lincoln as he began to circle the room's perimeter. Henry cooed in his arms, happy to have a bit of human contact once again. "Me too. I dreamed of your mother, my Olivia. You're better off not remembering the day before she… disappeared. I was with her, and you, but you were asleep." Sitting down in a chair Lincoln swallowed, reached for a stored bottle and began to feed him. "She loved you very much, Henry, almost as much as I loved her."

For hours Lincoln sat in the baby's room and discussed with him the heavy burdens that reside in his heart: the sorrow he felt for his universe, the disgust he had for the Secretary's lack of initiative and his secrets, but just as present, his guilt for not being able to help Olivia. He could forgive himself only once, and yet a thousand more waves of pressing guilt would surface, crash over him and again Lincoln found himself drowning in self hatred.

Mourning was a vicious cycle, he knew. Each day the wheels kept turning, pedaled by the power of human emotion. Spokes driving directly into his thoughts, his confidence, and either came out clean or left behind scar tissue, irreparable damage that made him feel a little less strong. But each night after he awoke from his dream he'd hear Henry cry; each night he'd come in to feed him, to change his diaper, or simply hold him. It was a reminder that somewhere in the vast landscape of the human mind that perhaps some good was left, that perhaps, someday, Lincoln could forgive himself.

That day, Lincoln knew, was a long shot at best. He had a promise to keep; he kept reminding himself as he held Henry in his arms. He was going to be a father, Marilyn had told him last week. She wanted Lincoln to adopt Henry as his own and be a part of his family. He needed a solid father figure, Marilyn had told him, and Lincoln was just that. Know this, knowing he was going to be a father had brought a spark of… something into his spirit. It was in those single seconds Lincoln felt a dying emotion that made him believe he could let his emotions go, that he could be the savior Olivia believed him to be.

Invincibility. With that power alone, Lincoln knew, he could do almost anything.

* * *

><p><strong>Over Here<strong>

_Brighton, MA  
>8:00pm<em>

"_Wilbur never forgot Charlotte. Although he loved her children and grandchildren dearly, none of the new spiders quite took her place in his heart. She was in a class by herself. It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both."_ smiled Olivia as Ella sat comfortably in the crook of her shoulder, her aunt's strong arms wrapped around her small body and locked securely by the book in her arms. Closing the object cover to cover Olivia glanced down at Ella's teary face. "I told you it was a good book, didn't I?"

Ella sniffed, wiping a small tear from her eyes, her glistening orbs shone in the dim light of Olivia's bedroom. "It was, but it was so sad. Why'd Charlotte have to die? It wasn't fair. She did all that for Wilbur and she had to die!"

"Charlotte did something noble for her friend. She made it her life's mission, her good deed, to help Wilbur," she replied, "And friends like that, one who would risk their life to save someone else, is someone who's truly rare and special in this world. Charlotte teaches that without selflessness, without sacrifice, there can be no good in this world."

Ella smiled brightly up towards Olivia. "Like you, Aunt Liv. You're like Charlotte. You help people."

Olivia couldn't help but laugh. "So then who's Wilbur?"

"Peter!" Ella exclaimed, "Because he likes bacon."

From across the room Peter glanced slowly towards where the small, innocent voice called his name and felt his heart warm for the small child in Olivia's arms. Rachel shook her head and folded the cards in her hands. "Big plans tonight, Pete?" Rachel asked at the hour long smirk on Peter's face as Olivia read to Ella. "I couldn't help but notice the amount of times you glanced at the clock and smiled." A red tint glowed on Peter's face. "Usually a man smiles like that for two reasons. One, there's some kind of sport on TV or he knows he's going to get laid. It's too early for football season and there isn't a baseball or hockey game on tonight so I'm going to guess the latter."

Peter chuckled. "Well, we were going to have a little evening to ourselves but your headstrong daughter got a hold of your sister before I could." Rachel offered an apologetic smile but Peter shook his head. "But this is okay, I don't mind it. It's adorable at how much Ella admires your sister."

"I think it's the other way around," nodded Rachel with a chuckle. "Since the day Ella was born, I've never seen Olivia smile more," she paused, "other than when you came into her life. You'll never guess what Ella wants to be."

He smirked, "I can only guess. After what you two went through with your stepfather, you guys deserve something to smile about.

"Liv told you about that," Rachel said, her voice dropping in volume. Peter nodded slowly. "She always got it worse than I did, for trying to stand up for us and for Mom. It was… _terrifying_." Glancing towards where Olivia reclined with Ella, Rachel sighed. "I had always feared that she'd have a mental breakdown or something as we got older, but after _that _night I always knew we'd be okay."

Reaching across the table Peter grabbed her hand and smiled. "I've always thought it's our past experiences that make us who we are, that shape and mold us into the people we were meant to be. Your sister, for one, is one of the most dedicated people I know, and after hearing what hell you two went through I'm proud to say I know her. She, and you, Rach, are perfect role models for Ella. Don't let that jerk off of an ex-husband let you think otherwise."

The patter of small feet flopping across the floor sounded off as Ella came galloping into the living room and jumped into Rachel's lap. "We finished the book!" Following suit behind her was Olivia, who chuckled lightly and rested her palms on Peter's shoulders. "It was a good book, sad, but a good book."

Rachel nodded. "Well I'm glad you enjoyed it. Pack everything up we're heading over to Susanne's house for the night."

Ella's eyes opened wide. "What? We're leaving? But it's only-"

"No buts, Ella Jay. You've spent every night with Aunt Liv and Peter, they need a night to themselves," she said, glancing at the sly smile on Olivia's face. Ella went to protest but Rachel cut her off. "_Now._" Grunting Ella stomped into the bedroom and gathered her stuffed monkey and their book.

As she walked angrily back towards the living room Peter scooped her up. "Just one night with your Aunt, and I promise tomorrow you can have her back."

"Promise?" she pouted and Peter nodded and squinted, earning a chuckle from her. Hoping off Peter's lap she grabbed her backpack and waited for Rachel to say her goodbyes at the door. After hugging Peter she squinted at him. "Tomorrow, Peter. If you're nice you can come too, we're going to the amusement park."

Peter grinned. "Well that depends on if we're dragging your Aunt onto a roller coaster again. I'm sorry to say I missed-" With Olivia's hand on the backside of his head she stopped and caught the embarrassing expression on her face as he chuckled. "I look forward to it, Ella." Kissing her good bye Ella and Rachel left quickly, the door closing behind them.

Wrapping his arms around Olivia's waist he pressed his lips against the corner of her neck. "I thought she'd never leave," he muttered against her skin, kissing her again. "Finally I get to have you to myself for the night."

"Oh stop, Peter, you know you enjoy having her here," she countered, his lips tracing the outline of her shoulder.

"I adore your niece. But I can't enjoy you with her here. Not in the R-rated sense at least."

Breaking his grip she parted and headed towards her closet to pull out a skirt and a shirt. "You've got a dirty mind, Peter Bishop, you know that?" she called from around the wall, making Peter smirk.

"I never hear you complain though."

"Is that all men really think about is sex?"

Leaning against her door frame Peter let himself indulge in the beautiful sight before him- a half dressed FBI Agent, unarmed for the first time in a few days which was a first by any standards. "No, right now I'm thinking about dinner. Then during dinner I'll be thinking about sex."

Running a brush through her hair she smirked at him in the mirror. "And during sex, what's going to be on your mind, if I may be brave enough to ask?"

Peter grinned as she applied a light layer of make-up. "Probably how the Sox are going to do in tomorrow night's game."

Rolling her eyes Olivia huffed. "Typical." Slipping into her shoes she grabbed her handbag and headed towards the door, hiding a small, amused smile that spread across her cheeks.

* * *

><p><strong>Over There<strong>

_Liberty Island  
>Midnight<em>

There was a reason why humans had evolved out of swinging from trees, Charlie decided. Monkeys made it look all too easy to scale the thick, rough branches and moves through the vines, their limbs defied the rules of gravity as they reached for threads and gave no second thought to the threats that lay hidden below. For Charlie and Lincoln, their ascent up the metal fence was far less graceful. Slowly, rung by rung they scaled the metal rings of a shaky fifteen foot chain link fence; each jolt of the loose links made Charlie curse his evolutionary ancestors for not gracing him with the ability to simply climb to reach his destination.

With every inch of his body he clung to the warm metal, his fingers and toes gripping desperately for whatever thin sheath he could find, chest panting and his muscles clenching as he as he slowly threw his legs over the top of the fence and fought to find his footing. Instead of grabbing his step he dropped towards the ground and landed on two feet, tripoding to catch his breath. Wiping a line of sweat from his forehead he watched as Lincoln did the same, toppling over the crooked fence and landed with a hard _thud_ on the ground. "That was graceful," he commented as Lincoln stood and shot him a look.

"And the last time you visited a gym was when?" he replied, remarking at the quick, rapid breaths his partner drew in. "Come on, it has to be around here somewhere."

Slinging his backpack over his shoulder Charlie rolled his eyes and followed suit. "So the Secretary really gave you the go ahead to find a way to cross over? I can't believe he'd _actually_ agree to something like that. I thought it was a far stretch in itself," he sighed, feeling his heart rate lower slightly, "I guess I was wrong."

In the black of night, Lincoln turned to Charlie and grinned. "I'll admit I was surprised when I got his letter giving the go ahead. I figure he's got a few different thought processes. Option A; we're going to find a way to cross over but not come back. Option B; we're going to find a way to cross over and come back with reinforcements."

Pushing past a fallen tree, Charlie spoke. "Option C?"

"We die trying to find a way. This place is a jungle gym from what Fayette said. I mean, this was the origin of the wave, God only knows whats left of this place. There were still people trapped inside when the statue collapsed-"

Charlie gagged as his skin crawled, suppressing the urge to suddenly vomit at the thought. "Alright, enough thought of carnage, if I walk into a body I'm puking in your lap." Silently they progressed towards the southern end of the island until they found the object they were looking for. Hidden behind a twisted metal gate sat a medium sized door, cracked and broken with rust and decay. Glancing at one another they both sighed. This was it.

There was no turning back.

It took both of them, a twisted crowbar and all the strength they could possibly muster to pry the mangled door to the base open. They pulled, twisted, and cursed at the rusted piece of wall in any attempt to pry it open. With one more heave and a loud _snap! _They flew backwards as it finally popped open enough for them to squeeze through. Turning on a flashlight Lincoln and Charlie squeezed past the debris and made a treacherous journey down the familiar hallway. All around them metal and wires clustered together like a mangled metal fence. Instead of red roses they found jagged petals of contorted beams, their roots twisted from the wall in metallic roots. An occasional curse could be heard muttered from either of them as they caught themselves on a metal sticker, bright blood oozed from the broken skin. What they hoped was going to be a walk in the park felt more like a run through a thorn bush.

Walking through the black hallways the only light they had to guide them was the flashlights they held onto. Blue-white lights that cut through the dark like lasers, slicing the invisible thicket down to a path where they could walk. Heat from the summer trapped within the buildings and made them sweat, their lungs heave with the thickness of the air. The stench was what got them next. It made their stomachs turn, and at least once either Lincoln or Charlie turned to vomit. It assaulted their noses and made their mouths sour. Lincoln knew they had animals somewhere in this building, but where was yet to be determined. They felt sticky and the walls moist with summer condensation. Neither wanted to admit but they were sure that beyond some of these closed doors a few trapped souls rested silently, unearthed and undisturbed for almost five weeks nor counting. In the staggering summer sun he could only imagine the horror show that sat a meager foot away, blocked by a wall of concrete- and a wall Lincoln was thankful for.

What should have taken them only a few minutes had ended up being an hour endeavor to pass through the treacherous playground that used to be one of the most famed locations in the world. Sweat mixed with silent tears to see the famed monument cut down to size, slaughtered and left to die in a pile of bloody rust and broken metal bones. Finally they reached the end of their journey and kicked down the half-broken door. Dust and mold few into the air as they coughed and gagged, covered in sweat, blood and whatever other substance was growing on the walls and floors. Falling to their knees they glanced at once another and shook their heads.

"Whoa," was the only word Charlie could muster as he looked upward at the gigantic shadow they found themselves in, a dormant creature that sat towering in a disturbing, peaceful slumber. "Is that… the machine Liv always talked about?"

Following his gaze Lincoln too was speechless at the sheer size of it. "I believe so."

Charlie's brows scrunched in sudden confusion as he glanced at the scattered chaos around him. "Call me crazy but it still looks-"

"_Intact_." Lincoln muttered in astonishment, his eyes widening. "How is that possible? Everything here was destroyed, torn bit by bit and yet this thing looks… _untouched_." He stood and began to walk towards the device, his mind reeling with impossibilities. This technology looked clean, unscathed and unbroken. It was _impossible_, Lincoln knew. Based on the destruction on the outside this should be in pieces and yet here it was, clear as day, standing tall and true. They separated and began to scour the room for any hints on what happened in this room, a mystery still.

"Lincoln!" Charlie hollered from across the room, which sent his partner into a sprint, jousting past broken desks and punctured computers. Standing with his back turned Charlie was silent as he held a white jumpsuit jacket that was stained a sinister reddish-brown. "Look," he whispered and held the lapels. Lincoln swallowed as tears came to his eyes. A single word was stitched into the fabric, the threads broken and torn, soaked with blood.

_Dunham. _

"She's alive," Lincoln whispered into the thick, hot air around them as he slowly grasped a sleeve Charlie and squeezed it tight, tears welling in his eyes. "She has to be." He held in a heavy breath, "We need to keep on looking for a way to cross over," his voice cracked, "C'mon."

Charlie gripped the jacket tightly and kept walking in any last attempt to hold into the third point of their team. His knuckles turned white against the fabric in any attempt to feel the foreign heart beat Lincoln still believed in. The longer this went on, the more Charlie was beginning to lose faith. But he saw the passion in Lincoln's eyes, a passion he wasn't willing to let go just yet. In silence they trekked onward again and moved to another hallway. Going into the stairwell they carefully made their way down four floors.

"You know this would be so much _easier _if those damned elevators worked," grumbled Charlie as he placed a careful foot on the mangled metal.

Lincoln laughed, "Sure and risk plummeting three floors into a fireball of-" Before he could finish the platform beneath them cracked and screamed, breaking into pieces and sent Lincoln and Charlie falling almost fifteen feet straight to the ground floor. Landing on a pile of scrap they cursed aloud and groaned.

"You were saying about plummeting?" Charlie snickered. Helping one another stand and assess their injuries Lincoln shot him a dirty look and stepped slowly through the door. "What's down here?"

"A lab, if I remember correctly. Olivia said they may have some sort of generator down here; it's where she crossed back over when she returned from the other side all those months ago. If it's where she crossed over maybe we can too."

His partner huffed. "Yea, and if I remember correctly they had those rod things jutted into her skin. They had to chime on both sides, Mr. Scientist," said Charlie as they climbed over a broken beam. "So there's one idea shot."

Lincoln glared at him. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, _pal._"

Despite the circumstances Charlie smiled. Walking down the hallway, and one that wasn't too badly damaged for that matter, Lincoln turned into a wide room. Much like the room upstairs this one was also in shambles, however much to their surprise, somewhat intact. Walking into the corner Charlie pulled the cord for the electric generator. On the fifth attempt the engine hummed to life sending two computers and the tank against the west wall of the room. Most of the lights were broken and a few cracks graced the computer screen but it was something. Sitting down at the computer Lincoln brushed away a layer of dust and began typing away, thankful something was going right for a chance.

"We've got maybe ten minutes of power and after that it's lights out." Charlie began a careful walk around the room and came to a sealed metal cabinet. Prying it open he found a bag of red liquid, his eyes scrunching. "Linc take a look at this, I found it in the fridge." Walking over he handed Lincoln a bag as they both glanced at it in silence. "What the hell's Cortexiphan?"

"I've never heard of it, it must be something new." Lincoln muttered and took post at the computer once again and began a search. After a few minutes he spoke again, "Cortexiphan is a drug, it appears. It doesn't show up on any of the databa-" he paused, his eyes widening. "Wait. Charlie, I think you've found what we're looking for."

Charlie blinked. "What?"

Lincoln glanced over his shoulder, "We've found a way to cross over. It's all here in Fayette's files. It's an experimental drug from the other Olivia," he read, "Apparently they found it in her brain chemistry and it's what they believed that gave her the ability to cross over during those experiments. Get all the bags you can find and a few syringes, I've got an idea," Lincoln said quickly and stood, gathering the materials he needed into a bag. A low hum from the corner began to die down as the lights flickered. Without another word they left on hurried wings and began their journey back to the surface, leaving the room behind them in darkness.

A chill ran down Charlie's cut up arm as Lincoln injected another bag full of the drug into his shoulder, his teeth clenching together as Lincoln depressed the plunger. "So how long are we supposed to just _sit _here and let this stuff work?" Charlie asked as he rubbed the several needle sticks in his arm, as Lincoln injected the last of the bag into his partner. "This had better be work it cause that stuff _hurts_."

Lincoln shrugged, "According to Fayette's documents the drug worked on perception. So if you can dream a better world you can create it. They tried a few times with the other Olivia, but it didn't work. Not until they immersed her in a tank with water. It had something to do with sensory input, creating a womb-like atmosphere that enabled her to cross over. If all goes accordingly it should work," he glanced over the side of the base and into the rocking waters below, "We just need to clear our minds and think about the other side."

"Sounds more like a Jedi mind trick. So if this doesn't work then all that time was wasted," Charlie groaned.

"It's going to work, Charlie, have faith." Lincoln said as he drew up another few bags and injected himself with the red liquid. Once they were empty they both stood at the ledge and glanced down at the inky waters. "You ready for this?"

Grabbing Lincoln's jacket nervously Charlie nodded. "Just don't let go, Rose, and I'll be fine."

"Clear your mind, focus on the other side. Relax and it should work." Lincoln said as Charlie nodded. It didn't help that he hated the water. "Ready?" He could hear Charlie swallow. "On three… one… two… three!" Launching off the side the duo fell another thirty or so feet crashed into the icy waters, landing with a rough _splash_ as they barely missing the rocks below. Surfacing once again they treaded and caught their breaths and let their hearts calm. With a nod to the other they dove below the surface and grabbed a hold of a broken buoy line.

Lincoln squeezed his eyes shut and let himself relax, the only sound in his ear was the beating of his heart and the soft rocking of the currents beneath him. _Relax_ he told himself. _Just… relax…_ In his mind he found himself calming as his heart rate slowed, and the face of a woman he loved began to mold into the chilly darkness around him. He couldn't help but smile.

That's when it happened- a sudden uneasiness began to settle over. Suddenly he felt himself falling, pulled with the current, faster and faster as he spun, sucked towards the dark bottom below. Panic arose as he began to thrash with the sudden urge for oxygen. His skin tingled and his lungs burned. He couldn't take it anymore. Launching upward towards the surface he kicked furiously until his head broke the surface and he inhaled deeply. Next to him Charlie did the same, gasping and flailing in the waters. Coughing and shaking they made their way back toward the rocks of Liberty Island. Charlie cursed loudly as he clung to the rocks and breathed deeply.

"You're insane, Lincoln!" Charlie called from his perch, numb hands grasping the slippery rocks, "The currents are too strong."

"I don't understand it should have worked," Lincoln muttered with wet lips and chattering teeth, "We did exactly as the directions said-"

Glancing upward towards a light Charlie's breathing ceased. "Lincoln,"

His fist pounded on the rocks angrily, "We should have stayed under longer, we were almost there I felt it-"

"Lincoln-"

"We failed, all that effort and we-"

"_Lincoln!_" Charlie hollered and pulled Lincoln's matted head upward at the sight before them, "The Statue of Liberty, she's…." Standing proud and tall before them, skin oxidized to a soft sea green stood the infamous Lady Liberty, intact and true.

Lincoln shut his mouth and turned around slowly, lost for words at the landscape before them. "I almost forgot," he whispered. Behind them, car horns and sirens sounded at a distance as they stared off into the luminous background before them. The Empire State building shone brightly, illuminated in a soft blue light against the skyline as their eyes searched for the World Trade Center, but their search was short-lived. Lincoln glanced at Charlie as they both eyed the skyline in sheer amazement. In large lettering to their right read five words that brought Charlie and Lincoln into utter silence.

_Welcome to New York City…_

* * *

><p><strong>Over Here<strong>

_New York Harbor  
>05:30am<em>

Sunrise.

Lincoln had almost forgotten what it looked like; the way the ocean and the peaking sun would melt together in brilliant pastels of blue, pink, orange and an occasional streak red. The clouds, he decided, were his favorite. Instead of floating cumulonimbus they looked more like wisps of pink tinted cotton, strung together on a weave and frozen in motion. Back on his side there were no more sunrises or sunsets- just dark, toxic clouds that corroded the skyline with chemicals and no promise of a better day. Sun was a rare occasion nowadays and any chance he had to witness the sacred beauty he would. A split second glimpse of that burning star was just as precious as water; a single drop had to last for weeks. Here, in this seemingly untouched world, sun and warmth was as infinite as the stars it surrounded. The sky around it was clear, water colored blue and orange that brought a quiet line of tears of Lincoln's face; a sorrowful reminder of what they had lost, and how much they had taken advantage of something as simple as a sunrise. In a way they reminded Lincoln of a snow flake- there were never two of the exact same kind.

"It's beautiful," Charlie sighed beside him, silently echoing his own thoughts. Lincoln let a quivering breath he held release slowly. They had been there for almost an hour as they allowed their clothes to dry; wrapped in towels they managed to swipe from an unlocked boat in the harbor. The chill they had previously slowly began to fade, their skin glowing a sun-kissed orange as they simply watched the horizon. It was a kiss of sweetness that one may find in any ripe orange. Reclining back Charlie and Lincoln sighed simultaneously as their feet dangling over the dock lazily. It almost felt for a moment they were home.

Almost.

"I had forgotten," whispered Lincoln as the sun began to peak over the distant horizon, "what it looked like. Liv used to say that this was her favorite time of day, you know. She said it's because of the promise of a new day, that all the prior worries would just… melt away."

Charlie placed a rough palm on his friend's shoulder. "Well, in this case she's right. Today, we find the other Olivia and hope they sympathize enough to help. If she's anything like our Liv I'm sure she will. We all need a little hope in this world, buddy." Turning towards him, Lincoln smiled at Charlie.

Hope. It was a small, innocent word that could change the views, alter the situation and perhaps even change the future. Somewhere, Lincoln knew, here, that despite the darkness he knew the world was just a little brighter, a little lighter, and with the promise of a better time. They sat for another hour or so and simply watched the orange globe rise higher, their hopes for help became a little brighter. For a moment, Lincoln felt invincible with the idea this could work, the reason he kept repeating over and over in his head. Seeing the sunrise had restored that small portion of his mind that drove him to keep going.

It was hope, he knew, because everyone needs just a little ray of that.

* * *

><p><em>I do hope this was worth the wait! Chapter 4 coming soon! <em>


	4. A Change of Heart

**Author's Note: **No, this isn't an April fool's joke, folks, I'm back with a new chapter! Apologies once again for the delay, stupid real life and all… *grumbles aimlessly* with that I present chapter 4! Took me a while to get it juuuust right! Reviews are wonderful as always!

* * *

><p><strong>A Change of Heart<strong>

**Over Here**

_Liberty Island  
>Three hours ago… <em>

There was only one word that would come to mind whenever she thought about it- thought about her time _Over There_; it was three long, dark months of fear, twisted pain, of dreamless nights, numb extremities, raw, broken skin and blood soaked garments. It was one word that had made Olivia Dunham cringe with disgust, one word that had always been the pinnacle of her existence, to know her capture was based on a single human principle that had been the driving force most of the wars throughout history. It was what killed mothers, brothers, sons, nieces and tore families apart. It was one word that shattered her in an instant and brought her trembling to her knees.

_Revenge. _

The simplistic idea of bringing harm and pain to one by the ways of another was a satanic thought she had spent much time thinking about. Why was she, of all people to bring pain to, chosen for this specific task? Sure Walternate wanted to hurt Peter, to make his suffer the way he had by taking someone he loved- but Peter didn't know she was there. So what exactly was her purpose? That single, solemn proposition was the question plaguing her mind each and every night before she would collapse of exhaustion and emotion. It wasn't until the third spinal tap did they extract the cortexiphan from her system, the true treasure in the hidden cavern of her mind, that she truly understood her reasoning.

The first thing she always remembered was the taste; it was a thick, crude oily texture with an acidic-metallic tingle that made her body burn with a fiery fear of anticipation. Needle after needle, injection after injection has turned her blood thin with corrosion and black with corruption as they pumped more chemicals into her veins. Next always came the pain; hurtful at first, but eventually it turned her whole body numb to the world around her. Even the coolness of her bench, her sanction away from it all in her tiny matchbox of a cell had eventually become foreign. Her back always ached; her skin torn from being dragged across the unforgiving ground had left scars on her outer soul that she had been trying to erase.

She had been doing anything and everything _possible_ to avoid coming back to _this _place, to forget _those _memories. But with the addition of the next case to her resume, all those awful months began to slip back into her mind. It was something incredibly _familiar_ about her stance and the rising fear that began to curl its wiry fingers around her neck and choke her.

Despite the warmth of the surrounding night Olivia shuttered uncontrollably. Icy goose bumps began to crowd the flesh of her arms as she kept her eyes closed and fought to control a sudden spell of ragged breathing and panicked anxiety that had slowly been creeping down her spine ever since she set her sights on Liberty Island- _her _Liberty Island. What had once stood before her as a monument to peace and freedom now represented an experience she associated with fear, pain, apprehension and injustice.

Her fingernails dug into the small stone wall in front of her as the dizziness and nausea began to creep up her throat and made her mind fuzzy. In a different universe she had stood in this spot before, staring helplessly at the illuminated New York skyline. In the distance she heard the angry voices of guards, the flashing of unfriendly white flash lights and the howling bark of savage dogs as they chased her. Her skin began to singe, the crooks of her arms burn as the unforgiving memories of jagged, hot needles and unforgiving restraints began to slice through her. They were memories she had been working so hard to forget; her time Over There as a prisoner of universal war.

"Hey, you okay?" Olivia's eyes snapping open to find her unsung hero, her anchor, and her way home standing next to her with curious blue eyes. She hadn't even realized he was there. A moment ago it was just her alone with her thoughts. With his hand on her shoulder, concern flashed in Peter's eyes. "Liv, you look like you've just seen a ghost."

In a way she did see a ghost, the apparition of herself that she had worked so hard to leave behind, the one standing on the edge of oblivion with no way out. "I'm fine," she answered dryly, hoping he wouldn't see the paleness in her cheeks and the fear in her eyes. Wiping the cold sweat from her brow she quickly changed the subject. "Did the guards say anything different?"

Peter rolled his eyes at her avoidance. "They all have the same story. Around one in the morning they were doing rounds around the perimeter. Not too long after they heard a crashing sound and saw a pale red flash, then what sounded like splashes. At first they thought a boat crashed into the rocks, but found nothing when they went to investigate."

"So then what makes this a Fringe case?" she asked, trying to hide the shaking in her voice.

Peter sighed and leaned over the stone railing, his hands dangling over the edge. "It _doesn't_ make this a Fringe case." He became quiet for a moment, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and turned his attention back towards her. Something had thrown her armor back on; the carefree, flirty woman he had been on a plane with only hours ago was gone, replaced by the stone faced, high shouldered _Agent Dunham_ he had known too well. Catching her breath again Olivia followed his stance and dipped her chin to her chest. "Liv," he said, a velvet octave lower and took her frozen hand in his, "What's wrong? You've been on edge ever since we got here."

"Nothing," she whispered and shrugged nonchalantly, averting her gaze to the city skyline and quickly slipped her hands in her pockets. "Just… little freaky déjà vu, I think. Its fine, Peter," she forced a smile and rose a reassuring hand to his cheek and gave him her best doe-eyed expression she could muster, the one that always made his heart melt. "I'm fine, really."

He said nothing for a few moments; instead he engaged himself in reading every line in her lip, every crease in her cheeks. Slowly he smiled. Lacing his fingers through hers he placed a gentle kiss on her hand and pulled her away from the wall. "Okay then. Just… don't do _that_, that thing when you look like you're about to bolt. It's weird."

"You're always a little weird," she bantered back and forced another fake smile towards him, giving Peter a slight shove. Seeing the drop in his shoulders had brought her defense down slightly in knowing the conversation prior was to be dropped. Peter was always good for that.

For the remainder of the early morning their crews worked diligently to decipher what had happened and what had brought Fringe Division out to Liberty Island, but in the end they had found nothing of sorts to make sense. Perhaps it was a boat that hit the rocks; it had happened more often than one would think. Still they had to be sure. After a few hours rest, it was decided, Massive Dynamic would be next on their list before officially closing the case.

With Broyles' blessing the team headed back to the mainland and to a hotel the FBI had booked for them- one of the many benefits of working for the government Peter always joked. It was close to seven o'clock when Peter, Olivia, Astrid and Walter parted ways into their respective rooms; Walter and Astrid with adjoining rooms and Peter and Olivia down the hallway. Sleep had always been a rare commodity in their line of work, but the second Peter's head hit the pillow he was out, lulled to sleep by the luscious, thick black-out curtains.

They never talked about it- her time over there, mainly because she didn't _want to_. Peter had felt guilty enough about what had happened with the other Olivia, and knowing this she couldn't bear to place another burden on him; that while he slept soundly, tucked beneath the comforts of her bed, she was strapped to a slab and forced to be guinea pig to Walternate's experiments. Had Peter known she knew it would tear him apart. Sure, he would occasionally ask about a scar he hadn't seen before but she had had enough traumas in her life to think of a quick cover story.

Beside her Peter rolled over and shifted towards her, his arm crossing over her hips to bring her body closer to his sleep-driven one. She let him easily mold himself to her, his knees taking shape behind hers, his bare chest pressed against her shoulders and his lips shadowed across her the back of her neck as she felt him smile against her skin. Olivia swallowed and sighed, trying to once again block the nightmares from her vision.

Gripping Peter's hand tighter she closed her eyes and anchored herself to him, praying for yet another dreamless sleep to overtake her, and to awake to a world where things were always a little brighter, a little lighter, and as she believed, to be full of promise.

* * *

><p><em>New York City<br>Nightfall_

The resemblance was _just too uncanny_.

They must have looked like tourists, Lincoln decided, as they gawked at the sights surrounding them for the last two miles they walked. It was _exactly_ like their city, like his New York, their _shattered_ New York; He had imagined this world to be incredibly different and yet the smallest tweaks were that caught their attention first. As they walked down Times Square the first thing that caught his eye was the large LCD screen of the Coca-cola emblem. On his side it was Pepsi. The M&M's store wasn't on his side; they had a Skittles store instead. Majority of the advertised Broadway shows were the same- with the exception of the every-curious _Cats _that had made Charlie scratch his head with a profound curiosity. The more present aspect was the absence of the World Trade Center, taken in the attack almost ten years ago, he guessed. Minus a few details, it was almost an exact replica of home.

Another oddity was the buses. There was no Show Me required, just a simple dollar insertion that had puzzled Lincoln to no end. What was the point of giving a dollar to ride the bus, one that smelled like rotten cheddar to be exact? There were no check points, no entry swipes for people to check into. Hailing a taxi was as simple as flashing a few twenties out the window. He hadn't seen a physical key since he was in elementary school but the object was everywhere- on the buses, cars, subway platforms, the mere _lack _of technology was purely breathtaking. How did these people survive in a world without checkpoints, without clean cars to prevent pollution of the airways and functional toilets that weren't clogged and marked up by troubled teens? Sure, their side has their fair share of crime but their kids were much more respectable than these ones.

For hours they roamed the warm, musty streets of the city in search for anything- anyone that could help them track down and connect with the other Olivia. Charlie had remembered Olivia saying something about the FBI's Fringe Division and their operations; that their division here wasn't nearly as prominent as theirs back home. Charlie knew, on his side, the FBI had ceased to exist almost fifteen years prior. The fact it was a still a prominent figure here was fascination. As they trekked towards a possible destination he couldn't believe the lack of notices he hadn't seen. It had come to a point now where Charlie could almost verbatim recite the location of their gigantic, and in his opinion, rather tacky _Fringe Division_ posters.

"This is impossible," Lincoln muttered as they sat down on a bench in Central Park and sighed into his hands, "We've scoured what feels like this entire city and we haven't found anything to help us get in contact with her. On top of that I'm starving, my feet are killing me, and I smell like the inside of my grandmother's closet."

Charlie chuckled, "But mothballs suit you so well, Lincoln, gives you that rustic, manly scent." Shooting daggers at him, Charlie shut his mouth immediately. "I know I'm getting discouraged too but this is only one day that we've been here, Linc."

"One day further away from finding help, Charlie, don't forget that. Our people are relying on us to find help, to find hope. It's our only way to find Liv."

Charlie remained quiet for a moment and bit his lip at his next question. "Lincoln we don't even know if she's still-"

"Don't say it!" hollered Lincoln, tears in his eyes and stood, his finger pointing at Charlie. "Don't you even think of saying it, Charlie," his voice shook as tears welled in his eyes, a waterfall he had been fighting to retain. "I _know _she's still alive, I can _feel _it. Just because everyone else has given up on her doesn't mean I will," he said between gritted teeth. "We just need more time."

"Everything alright here, fellas?" came a husky voice. Standing in front of Charlie and Lincoln stood a police officer, his hands perched precariously on his belt, his lips pressed and an eyebrow raised.

A sudden light bulb flashed in Lincoln's mind. "Yes, but on a side note, can you help us with something?" The officer nodded as Lincoln flashed his waterlogged badge. "We're FBI Agents Lee and Francis, we're working on a case and it seems we've hit a little car trouble a few blocks away. Any chance you can give us a lift back to headquarters?"

The officer squinted at his badge. "Fringe Division? What branch of the FBI is that? I've never heard of it."

Charlie stood, taking Lincoln's cue. "You wouldn't. We're a special division. Can you help us out or not?"

The officer smiled through his mustache. "Anything for the FBI. Come on, I'll give you a lift."

Smiling towards Lincoln, Charlie began to walk forward as Lincoln let his shoulders down. Where there's a will, there's a way, he decided.

Their way, he knew, had finally been made.

* * *

><p><em>Barringer Hotel<br>New York City  
>9:30pm<em>

With muffled footsteps down the hallway Peter sighed, his arms cradling their dinner as he slipped the hotel key out of his pocket. Normally on nights like these the four of them would grab dinner together to relax, reflect and on many occasions, to forget the mishaps of the day. But this… this was something else. He couldn't remember the last time he saw Olivia as shaken up as she was at the Island earlier that day. It wasn't as simple as feeling a bit uneven, hell; they all had days like this. But this, he mused, this was something different; something had scared Olivia back into her shell to a point where she refused to leave even their hotel room until it was time to fly home. Even when they were at Massive Dynamic to speak with Nina she was quiet and withdrawn. Nina had pointed it out as well that something was off kilter, that the spring in Olivia's step had suddenly turned to concrete and had her rooted back towards the ground.

He has always respected her privacy and her choice to keep some secrets and emotions locked up, but this was, for lack of a better word, _different_, he felt. It wasn't something that had reminded her of her childhood, or the abuse from her stepfather, no- something had literally _changed _inside her and that was enough to made Peter believe even more that something happened Over There, more than what Olivia had actually told him- rather what she _wanted _to tell him. He could see it in her eyes, though, an unfamiliar glow of an absolutely paralyzing fear.

"Liv?" Peter called as he closed the door and set the bag on the table. The room was dark, with the exception of a small line of light coming from the bedroom; a pale blue light illuminated the way, a beacon of sorts calling him to her. Setting the bags down on the table he followed suit and found her sitting on the bed, knees curled into her chest, head resting against the backboard, and her eyes gazing carelessly out across the city skyline. Peter stopped for a moment and froze as he sighed, leaning against the door frame.

Surprisingly, she chuckled, her voice cracked and low. "You know those days you have where you feel like you've been there before, that weird feeling of déjà vu that sets in, and you just _know_ in the pit of your stomach you've been there before?" She swallowed, "I had that feeling, except I did stand there before."

"The night you escaped," he nodded and crossed his arms, "I remember. Liv, you can tell me."

As always, she diverted slightly from his question with an expected silence. Minutes passed before she spoke again, her words soft and husky. "I guess I never expected to be standing in that spot again," she confessed, her neckline painted a milky blue from the window, "To be staring at the same skyline with the fear of not finding my way home, and… it scared me a little." Walking slowly over towards the bed Peter sat down in front of her, raising an eyebrow. She rolled her eyes. "Okay, so it scared me a lot."

Peter bowed his head, realizing where she was going with this. Sighing, he scooted closer and resting his arms on her knees. It was rare moments where Olivia would clue him into what she was thinking, what she was _feeling_ and they were moments he cherished. "I glimmered before, didn't I?" he asked in a low register. She pressed her lips together and nodded once.

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she turned her soft eyes towards him. It was amusing, she thought, just how good he had become at deciphering the tells of her body language. "How'd you guess?"

He returned her half-moon grin. "I've seen that look in your eyes before; those round, sad, fearful puppy dog eyes when I glimmer. It's why I didn't push the issue before, when you looked like you were about to bolt." Peter paused, licking his lips. "How are you doing now?"

Olivia licked her bottom lip and sighed. "I think I'm okay. It was a little overwhelming at first but its gotten better."

Taking her hands in his Peter kissed her palms. "Like I told you, Olivia, you won't have to go through this by yourself. It's not going to go away after a few months. You've got Rachel, Ella, Astrid, Walter," he cupped her cheeks, stroking the corners of her lips, "And you've got me. We've got each other. When you're ready we'll talk about it."

She smiled, her eyes shadowed by the night atmosphere. Leaning forward slowly, in the comforting dark of the evening light, she kissed him, soft and true; it was her silent way to saying thank you, and a response Peter had always cherished. To see her in this state- this intense, incredibly raw vulnerability was rare, and a moment he never took for granted. Wrapping her whole body into his chest he pressed her lips again and slowly pulled her down into the sheets, curling against her. She chuckled gently as he nibbled on her ear, muttering sweet words of comfort and compassion before returning to her lips.

As if on cue her phone began to buzz on the side table, making Peter sighed and press his forehead to her neck. She smiled and reached across the bed. "Dunham," she answered. Unlike the many times before there was no voice, causing her to crunch her eyebrows together in curiosity. "Hello?" she asked again.

"_Olivia?" _

In all the years Peter had been around her he couldn't remember seeing the color drain from her face so quickly, leaving her rosy cheeks an eerie alabaster white and her mouth run dry. It was _that _voice, the one she hadn't expected to hear again since she came home, the sound of a man she had seen leave twice in her life. Slowly she opened her mouth to breathe as she gripped the lapels on Peter's shirt, a single word uttered from her silent lips.

"… Charlie?"

* * *

><p><em>FBI Headquarters<br>10:30pm_

It wasn't _quite _the welcome Lincoln had pictured in his mind, or the response he had hoped for. His head throbbed from where his body was smashed into the granite floor; his wrists still stung from the unforgiving handcuffs that latched his fingers together and the throb in the side of his chest as enough to make a simple task like breathing even more painful. Stripped of his credentials and his weapons, he sighed. Sure, maybe he was expecting a friendly hug- perhaps a hand shake or two, even and the hospitality from this side, much like his Olivia had explained it to be.

No. This side, he decided, was _nothing_ like his. Sure, when they walked into the FBI headquarters he had figured it would be as easy as asking for Olivia's phone number and giving her a call. Hell it _had _been easy up until that point. After Charlie hung up he figured this plan was successful- until they had guns aimed at them. _Have Charlie call her_, he mused- a familiar voice that could be his entry into getting her to help. But like many times before, that plan backfired violently into his face.

How was he supposed to know the Charlie Francis on this side was dead? The Olivia from Over Here gave no indication of that when she began working as his Olivia, none whatsoever to make him believe the relationship Over Here was any different. He was starting to suspect something had gone wrong when the loud voices became hushed and agents began to circle them like buzzards around road kill. It wasn't until he was smashed into the ground cuffed and kicked that he notice _her_ standing before him, a look of both astonishment and disbelief clouded over those incredibly beautiful green eyes.

For a moment he forgot- he forgot that this wasn't _his _Olivia and was going to ask her to get these morons off of him. But in that second his reality came crashing back as soon as Peter Bishop came to stand at her side, making Lincoln remember exactly where he was. It was foreign territory and he was caught behind enemy lines with no reinforcements to come rescue him.

Standing across the interrogation room, lost within the dark corners of the walls, Olivia sighed. She hadn't said a word since she entered, simply stared at him, deep in thought. The expression on her face; the sadness in her eyes, the apprehension in her jaw, and the curiosity in her body language were all something he had been trying to decipher since she walked in and took residence against the wall.

Was it anger he saw in her eyes? Hatred? Fear? Disgust?

No, he decided.

It was confusion, astonishment. Disbelief.

"Are you going to say something?" he finally asked with a ping of urgency and annoyance. "Or are you going to simply stand there and devour me layer by layer? I didn't come here to just be stared at and throw into a prison cell."

"So then what did you come here for?" she asked slowly, taking Lincoln by surprise. He had half expected her to be up front, to be intense, interrogating him about why he was here, not asking for what purpose.

He sighed. "I came here to find you, Olivia, to ask for your help." He tried to hide the quiver in his voice.

"Your side is _supposed_ to be dead," she blurted out with a cruelty Lincoln hadn't expected. He shivered in this seat at the coldness of her voice. "That was the purpose of the machine, was to destroy one universe to save the other. Obviously that plan has changed. So the question that now remains is what do you want, Agent Lee?" she asked, softer this time.

He sighed. "Like I said, I came here to ask for your side's help. My side is dying, my _people _are dying. Whatever you did to us, it didn't completely destroy us as you hoped, as you dreamed," he felt his blood boil as he spoke between gritted teeth. "We are very much alive."

"Why should I believe you, Agent Lee? How do I know this isn't just some tactical deploy to try and destroy _us_?" she asked heatedly.

Lincoln grunted. "You need to _trust me_. I wouldn't come over here-"

"If you didn't want something," she retorted heavily. "So answer me this. How did you survive? That machine wiped everything clean."

Lincoln sighed and dipped his head in frustration. "I don't know. The wave came without warning." The memory of holding Henry in his arms and pushing Marilyn into the cellar echoed before him. "I was… doing a favor for a friend when it hit. We were lucky enough to get below ground when the first wave obliterated the city. Those who were above ground weren't so lucky. I don't know what happened, truly I don't. There are only a handful of people that do, and they're either dead or missing."

"If what you claim is true, then why should I help you after everything you people did to me? After all the lies, the experiments, the deceptions, why should I even lift a finger to help _you_?" Olivia said with fierce eyes.

Lincoln felt his lip tremble with anger. "Let me tell you, _Agent Dunham_," he spat, "About my last few weeks. While I'm sure you people have had your summer barbeques, your midnight swims in pools and nights of endless parties, I've had the task to going from _building_ to _building_ carrying out thousands of bodies from wreckage. I've dug through the dirt to find the lifeless eyes of girls, boys, of babies who hadn't even opened their eyes yet and made the numbing task to tell those who are still living their children are dead."

Tears welled in his eyes as his voice shook behind gritted teeth. "You people, you selfish bastards _destroyed _my world, destroyed my family, my friends, and my home. I came over here as a mission for peace, for justice and to _beg_ for your aid. _My world is dying, Olivia,_" he cried, hollering at her, "because of the inhumane _desire_ to keep yours. We have no food, no water, and no shelter, nothing to enable us to keep living. Our streets are contaminated, our air toxic. More diseases are being spread. _Every day_ I find more bodies. Families cornered together, the elderly separated from their loved ones."

Lincoln paused, his entire body shaking with rage as tears cascaded down his cheeks, "I came over here, because she believed in your side, my Olivia, who-" he swallowed a lump in his throat, "She believed that this side was always better off, not because of what you had, but because of _whom_ you were, and what _you_ believed in. So please," he whispered, "Help us. Forget this war; forget this stupid, _stupid_ excuse to repel one another. I'm sorry for what Secretary Bishop did, and I know a thousand apologies won't be able to make you see we're not monsters, but this isn't about you or me, or Charlie. We need your help. _I _need your help. _Henry_ needs your help."

Standing in the shadows, with her arms crossed over her chest Olivia sighed, trying to hide the emotion in her face. No words came to mind as she watched the tears roll down this man's cheeks, this broken, shattered man, and let his words sink in. She tried to think of something to say but no words came to mind, just the images he poured into her mind. Uttering an excuse under her breath Olivia left and closed the door quietly behind her, leaving Lincoln to sob in silence.

* * *

><p>"Hey," Peter muttered as he entered the break room to find Olivia seated quietly at the table, her mind lost in the cup of cold coffee seated between her palms. Her eyes were bloodshot, her cheeks puffy and her eyes full of tears. She swallowed, her throat scratched with sandpaper. Sitting next to her he sighed, his own heart mirroring the burdens she wore on her sleeves. "I take it you got the same story from Lincoln?" She silently nodded. "I'll admit," he said slowly, his words dripping with curiosity, "I don't know what to believe, if what they are saying is true."<p>

"I've seen it, Peter," she whispered, "What Lincoln was talking about. He's telling the truth."

He squinted in confusion. "You've… _seen _it?"

Olivia nodded and closed her eyes, avoiding his reaction. "Yesterday morning, at Liberty Island. It was more than just a glimmer, Peter. I… I crossed over, and I saw it, Over There."

Peter blinked. "You… _what?"_

"Just before you came over. I closed my eyes and the thought of it freaked me out enough, and I just… crossed over for a few minutes. I didn't want to believe what I saw, that the black was just from there being nothing but Peter, I _felt _it. I heard the cries. There is no more Liberty Island, there is no more Department of Defense, there's no more day, no more stars. There's simply _no more_. "

He sat back in his chair and sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. "So what happens now?"

"I'm taking Lincoln back there tomorrow to see it for myself."

"You're not going alone, Liv."

"And you're not going, period," she replied quickly. "Peter this isn't something I want on your conscious, if it's as bad as he's making it sound to be-"

He sat up straight. "Not want on _my_ conscious? Olivia, I was the one who stepped into the machine, _I_ was the one responsible for destroying the other universe. How can you tell me to not think about it?"

"Because I'm going to need your help to fix it, Peter," Olivia said, "And I think it's better to not see the damage, because we both know it won't help you sleep at night. I'm going tomorrow, and that's the end of this conversation." Standing quickly she left before Peter could protest, his mouth wide open with wordless replies.

All he could do was sit back and sighed, shaking his head in frustration. He had always known Olivia was a protector, and this time he was the target; shielding him from trekking down a longer guilt-driven path that she knew he'd fall into. It was in that retrospect Peter knew she was right. He hated admitting that. She was incredibly stubborn, and a trait he admired about her.

Standing slowly Peter left the small room and headed down the long hallway once again. In front of him a door opened, revealing Lincoln and Charlie, arms freed of their metallic restraints and being lead to two holding rooms. He'd imagine Olivia must have allowed them a shower and a warm place to sleep before beginning the journey across the universe. Gathering his belongings he exited the building. Hoping down the steps he found her leaning against the SUV, arms crossed and eyes focused solely on the ground beneath her.

His pace slowed, seeing the dismay that hung low on her shoulders. Avoiding him completely she rounded the nose of the vehicle and ducked quickly into the driver's seat, with Peter following and clicking his seat belt into place. The roar of the engine broke the silence between them as she put the car into drive, revving the engine to live. With one hand gripping the steering wheel, the other sat sternly on the arm rest between them. He hated it when she was like this; quiet, reserved, distant and in her own little aggravated world. Sure, they had fought over the years, and her silence towards him was nothing new. But it wasn't the fight he knew she was concerned with.

What if Lincoln was right? The damage, the destruction, even the loss of human life would be an incredible burden to place on their shoulders- on _his _shoulders.

Pressing his lips together Peter shifted in his seat and glanced towards her, aware to the fact she was purposely avoiding his gaze. Without hesitation he reached for her stray hand and laced his fingers between hers slowly, wrapping each finger gently against her palm. One by one she reciprocated and let out a quiet, quivering breath.

Following the road before her they continued the drive back to the hotel in a calm, smooth, and ever present silence.

* * *

><p><em>Reviews appreciated! <em>


	5. A Hero's Lament

Hi gang! How's that for an update! Ye be warned, fluffy POlivia ahead! Keep on reviewing/reading, I'll keep on writing.

Onward, my friends!

* * *

><p><strong>A Hero's Lament<strong>

**Over There**

_Olivia had seen war_.

She had witnessed first hand the divide between government and anarchy through faith and belief; between trust and triumph; between what was right and what was easy. It was a delicate- almost invisible line in a weave filled with tension. All it would take was one single fray; one vengeful flick of the wrist and it would unravel completely. She had stood in this similar spot many years ago gazing over a fire-filled landscape, where the only thing to echo in the middle of the night were the booming sounds of cannon fire and the cried of terrified children. She could feel the cold, black, unforgiving metal of her weapon in her hand, the grime and blood on her cheeks and the crushing weight of the world on her shoulders.

She had always been a soldier. The way they dressed, the way they spoke, even the way she moved was strict, precise and with dignity. What they taught her in basic training, however, was nothing like the real thing. There was two things all soldiers knew, and that was how to defend and how to kill. They were conditioned to believe that anyone who tried to hurt them, to hurt the soldiers of the United States of America, the brave men and women of freedom and belief, was an enemy. They were the evil visionaries that would destroy their own world to press their views upon them.

They were the 'good guys' as it was viewed; the proud men and women who would risk everything to see the United States through some of the worst periods of history. But how was one considered 'good' if her side the invaders? How, in the spectrum of human existence, was invading one country to save another a commemorated act of kindness? It was a question Olivia pondered each day she served in the Marines, and counted the fatal bullets she unleashed upon the foreign men and women.

There was no positive outcome to war, despite the pressing media. Anyone who had been there would know that. In order to defend their rights they had to become the very people they were trying to stop. How was it a good thing to press upon someone else's land? What were they fighting for? Cheap gas prices and flat beer? In truth they had become the enemy, the invaders; the murderers. The bullets she unleashed had killed the person with the same ideals she was trained with. Protect their land, their country and their family- and in an instant, with the squeeze of a trigger, she had become the enemy.

The situation here was the same, with the same outcome. The very universe that had become their enemy was suddenly at the mercy of hers. Her side had become the invaders, the bad guys; the evil humanity had been trying to rid itself of for thousands of years. There was no way to hide it, she knew.

Over Here, she was the betrayer, the invader, and the destroyer.

Over Here, Olivia Dunham was no hero.

Standing on top of a pile of rubble- the remains of the Chevrolet building, according to Lincoln, she spun in a slow circle and took in the scene around her. After completing her round, Olivia stopped and felt her heart drop towards her feet; her lungs turn to unyielding iron. All around her buildings crumbled like dust to the wind, a sand tower that withstood no fight from the oncoming ocean waves. In one breath they were gone, collapsed and molded into nothing but lumps of lifeless rubble. The strong pavement of the streets were cracked in all different directions, once everlast now had the strength of egg shells; dirt, grime and gravel pouring out of its protective covering, stained yolks spilling helplessly into the Earth. The movies did absolutely nothing for the actual _feel_ of war. They made it seem like this were horrible, disgusting, and yet somehow hopeful obstacle that mankind would soon triumph over.

She knew that wasn't true. Olivia had seen wars before. Two tours across seas had taught her that in war, there was no triumph, no hope; only the broken souls of those who had lost everything. This was nothing compared to the cinematic expressions Hollywood would make the viewer believe. There were no hope, no descriptions, and no prayers that could bring _this_ world back. This wasn't _just _an awful, undeserving event as the history books would call it.

It was, for lack of a better word, purely catastrophic.

This was no longer a war; this was the aftermath.

Cars were flipped like matchbox toys, street sights bent like yarn, and visible bodies tossed like paper dolls. Buildings leaned and creaked around her, hot glass to the blower. Everything about this world screamed fragile. She was afraid to breathe, fearful to see something else collapse with the gentlest change of the atmosphere.

One simple breath, she knew, and the world in front of her would incinerate in the blink of an eye.

Glancing at her, Lincoln bowed his head and continued their tour through the disheveled city streets. She could smell the burning of raw materials from where they stood, even miles away where there were no plumes of smoke. It was a firestorm of events. In some places flames still burned. They had abandoned all hope in controlling the infernos and just let them burn into the torn atmosphere. Ash fell like rain, a sour chemical that made her tongue singe. Heat was trapped all around her making Olivia's lung burn with corrosion and her veins turn to heated ice.

She watched in shock as the life forms around her worked in absolute silence. Sweat cut a path down the grime of their faces, tiny tear drops that plucked at the strings of her heart. Building after building they bounced to and pulled whatever remnants of humans out of the wreckage, and tossed their bodies into the piles. Every now and then someone would burst out a name and clutch the blackened remains close to their own hearts. Near her she caught site of a burnt taxi cab, and immediately the name popped into her head.

_Henry._

She fought back the tears as his face came to mind, the curve of his chin and the calming serenity in his eyes. The picture of his wife and young daughter flashed its way into her vision and she found herself praying they had made it out alive. After the sacrifices he had made for her, surely the reward was unjust. If she found him she'd apologize tenfold, she'd cry with him. She'd tell him she was sorry for doing this and ruining the world he came to love.

"Lincoln," called a male voice and one she faintly recognized. Standing a ways away from them stood a man. She knew him immediately; his shoulders broad, his hair matted, and his eyes in absolute shock. "Liv?"

"Frank," Lincoln replied and made his way down the alleyway, with Olivia in slow pursuit, her eyes fixed on his familiar face. Frank Stanton, the long time boyfriend of the Olivia over here, was a man who she couldn't have ever forgotten. While she was over here, her mind abuzz with improper memories, this man had treated her with a kindness she had forgotten could exist with love. He cooked her dinner, treated her with respect and took care of her while she was a false marionette.

She watched curiously as Lincoln whispered something into Frank's ear, and his vision snap back towards her, his gaze heated and full of disbelief. As she climbed down the rubble he stepped towards her slowly and eyed her with a glowing apprehension. "You're not… Lincoln said she's been missing for over four weeks and yet here _you_ are-" He fumbled over words. "Lincoln, what's going on here?"

"Some things are better left unresolved, Frank," she said, sighing heavily. "But no. I'm not her." she spoke and bowed her head. "I am similar to the Olivia you know, just… a different version of the one you do."

Frank blinked, his gaze darting between her and Lincoln, "I don't understand. What is she talking about? What about the baby?"

Olivia squinted, glancing towards Lincoln as well, "Baby?"

"Frank, I'm sorry, but we don't have time to hammer out the details now, later, I promise," Lincoln grabbed her hand, pulling her past the wide eyes of a rather curious and awestruck man. "Come on, there's more to see." They walked quickly past him. "Frank," Lincoln called back, turning on the ball of his heels, "If you see Marilyn, please… don't tell her."

Frank paused, and then gave a slow, confused nod. He watched them walk away quickly, his mind abuzz with endless possibilities. He tried to go back to work but this incredibly strange, and yet distant face haunted his every thought. He looked like her, sounded like her, even _moved _like her, and yet… it was something in her eyes that gave her a completely different silhouette that changed her completely.

She was right, in some strange and insane reasoning, she was right.

She wasn't _his_ Olivia.

Not anymore.

* * *

><p><em>New Fringe Division<br>8:00pm_

Sitting hunched over her tray Olivia breathed silently. She became lost in a plate of what she was told herself was dehydrated chicken and rice. It took most of her energy to let the heavy breath she had been holding deep within the crevices of her lungs finally go. It was all too real, the things she had seen and the sites she witnessed as Lincoln brought her around the city. She could still smell the stale blood and dirt mixing between the buildings. She could hear the screams and pleas of those still trapped inside the iron bellies of fallen giants. The taste of sour chemicals still lingered on her tongue. After touring the ruins of New York, Lincoln had brought her back to the place he called work, and the only thing he had left of a home. Sitting two floors below the offices Olivia swallowed the two words she had often been too proud to say.

"I'm sorry," she whispered into the pale, candlelit ambiance around them, her fork dragging lazily on the unbalanced metal plate, "For not believing you Lincoln, for letting them cage you and Charlie like lions."

"You couldn't have known, Olivia," he whispered back, swallowing a mouthful of room-temperature water. "I'm sure if the situation was flipped we would have done the same thing, too, so I can't really blame you. Apology not needed." He gave her a small, crooked smile that she returned below half-moon eyes. "But I can't help but wonder... why did your side want ours destroyed?"

She pressed her lips together. "It's not what we wanted, believe me. We didn't want _this_ to happen. We never intended _this_ to happen. After what W- Secretary Bishop did to me, the threat he posed by turning on the machine first and threatening my universe, I thought maybe you were here on some kind of revenge mission."

"Wait, the Secretary did _what_? He turned on the machine first?" Lincoln asked with eyes wide.

Olivia nodded. "It was a Tuesday, last month. I had spent the night at Peter's and my Broyles called me around six in the morning to investigate a phenomenon. After some detective work, we discovered that Secretary Bishop had activated his version of the machine with the intention to destroy our side first. We only turned ours on in self defense."

He sat back and took it in. "So your side didn't want to… destroy ours?"

She shook her head. "We were searching for a way to stop the destruction, to try and fix whatever rifts had been torn and find balance between the two worlds. It wasn't until the integrity of our universe was threatened did Peter enter the machine. He chose our universe. We were told that the machine would only save one. We… thought it would be a clean erase, but apparently our thoughts behind it were mislead. Had we know this," she gestured, "Would have been the outcome I assure you things would have been different."

Lincoln let his head bounce in realization. Pressing his lips together he whispered, "I'm sure they would have."

Olivia bit her lip in curiosity. "What did he mean by that, Frank, that I… she was supposed to be missing? I had kind of assumed she's be here waiting for you and Charlie to return."

An uneasy silence fell over Lincoln as he placed his fork down gently on the plate, clasping his hands together. "My Olivia," he sighed, "Has been missing for going on six weeks, ever since the first wave hit. She had gone over to the Department of Defense the night it happened to try and convince the Secretary to turn off the machine, and that was the last I saw of her. I brought Henry to her mother's house, and the next thing I knew we were ducking for cover in an old cellar."

Her eyes scrunched. "Henry?"

Lincoln nodded, hesitating, as he spoke quietly. "Her son, he just turned three months."

With that revelation Olivia became lost for words. She tried to respond but a quiet gasp of air was all the sound she was able to produce. For months she had thought of her double as a viper, a slithering, slimy trickster that had only her own intentions at heart. She was a deceptive, arrogant, incredibly egotistical, maniacal _bitch_ that had made Olivia's blood boil whenever she thought of her. But this woman, this snake of a human being was more than _just _a woman. She was something else, something that had changed the entire equation in an instant.

Over Here, she was a mother.

"You okay?" Lincoln asked as her cheeks turned pale; concern flashed in his face.

"Can I see him?" she responded quietly, "Please?"

He hesitated for a moment before standing and led Olivia two floors up to where the nursery was. Opening the door they slipped quietly into a room painted in black and navy blue from the night. Tip-toeing to the crib carefully Lincoln reached effortlessly over the bar and removed a sleeping lump of blankets, cradling him in his arms. Rocking him gently the baby cooed, his tiny fingers closing around Lincoln's. Grinning, he placed the baby gently in Olivia's arms, admiring the wide smile that graced her pale lips.

"He's absolutely beautiful," she whispered, rocking the baby back and forth gently in her arms. "She must be very proud."

Lincoln smiled as he adjusted the cap on Henry's sleeping brow. "She was- she is. He's a miracle. She wasn't supposed to be able to have him, you know. Her sister died during child birth from a blood virus that killed her and her baby girl. Liv was positive for the same disease." He caressed the baby's warm cheek with his finger, his eyes lost in thought. "We didn't think he was going to make it, but by some grace he pulled through. Makes me believe some miracles are still possible."

Stirring gently in her arms Henry stretched, grasping hold of Lincoln's finger. "I take it Frank didn't want kids then? That's why he left her," Olivia muttered, rocking Henry in her arms. Lincoln gave her a sideways look; "I could see it from the way he talked to me. She must have been devastated the father of her-"

"He isn't the father," he whispered, averting his gaze to the floor. "The only reason he survived was because her pregnancy was accelerated."

Slowly the gears in her mind began to turn, connecting one dot to another. Suspicion became an unwelcomed visitor that had made her mind turn precariously. But the answer she had questioned was resting in her arms. In this small bundle, sitting comfortably against her chest, was everything she had imagined her child to be. In him she saw her own reflection- her alternate's reflection. He had her cheeks, and her lips. But in his nose and his brow and in his eyes she saw someone else, a face that had not taken shape until now.

_Peter_.

"I'm sorry, Olivia," whispered Lincoln upon seeing the distress on her face. "I didn't know until the day he was born." Tears lined her eyes as Lincoln placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "He doesn't know, does he?" muttered Lincoln, caressing Henry's miniature leg; he'd take any distraction from seeing the shock on Olivia's face. "Peter, I mean."

Olivia swallowed her growing grief. "No," her voice cracking as her mouth filled with cotton, "No, he doesn't."

In the darkness around them Lincoln sighed, staring at the floor. "Are you going to tell him?"

She shrugged carefully, her voice small. "I-I don't know." Rocking Henry in her arms, she felt her body go numb.

"I think it's only proper for you to tell him," he squeezed her shoulder, "when he's ready."

Olivia said nothing and returned to rocking the sleeping bundle in her arms. Deep within her she found some satisfaction in watching his face contorted from aggravation back to that of a sleeping angel. Lincoln turned away, leaving them alone to fetch a bottle, Olivia couldn't take her eyes off of him, this beautiful miracle that rested in her arms. This she mused; this was what her future held, what her children would look like. The strength in their hands, the tranquility of their eyes, everything was there. But this was not her child; just a painful reflection of what could be- on how her alternate was her- but better.

She always hated keeping secrets from Peter. He had been honest with her; it was the least she could do for him. But this, this was something entirely different. The revelation of Peter's son multi-universal son was something inspiring to try and mend the worlds. It was something that could bring them all closer together, with the inspiration to heal both words for the sake of the children.

_He still has feelings for her. _

That single, heart breaking sentence worked its way back into her subconscious. Perhaps this could bring them together. But this consequential event could do something that had brought a terrifying sadness into her heart.

It could be the one thing that could tear her entire world apart.

* * *

><p><strong>Over Here<strong>  
><em>One week later<em>

_Brighton, MA  
>10:30pm<em>

Peter stood silently in the kitchen, his hands working furiously to wash the already cleaned plate that he held, to eliminate that one final, annoying invisible speck that would not leave the already glistening surface. It was something- _anything_- to take his mind off of the fact she had been completely distant towards him since she returned. What had meant to be a one day trip had turned into an eight day escapade that had literally turned her world upside down. He had received one message from her saying she was staying, that the assessment of the damage greatly outweighed the repairs they had anticipated. He couldn't lie and say her mission hadn't worried him; of course it did. She was going into enemy territory without any back-up or a plan. Seeing her safe upon their return that afternoon had eased his mind greatly, but the distance that echoed in his eyes was something he hadn't expected to see.

He had taken her home from Liberty Island in silence. Upon returning to her apartment she lead him silently inside without protest, stripped and headed straight for the shower. He had continued with his plan despite the silence she portrayed. Picking up her dirt-stained clothes he threw them into the hamper, all the while preparing her favorite meal; Penne vodka, chicken Marsala, fresh mashed potatoes and those crunchy fried green beans he made so well. On his way home he picked up her choice of white wine that would always enable her to relax.

But a delicious homemade dinner wasn't enough to set her mind at least. She ate in small bites, and miniature sips of wine. Her eyes avoided his, her lip trembled and her hands shook slightly. If Peter hadn't known better, she resembled a broken soldier returned from the war. It was the way her shoulders shrunk and her back hunched. The question that reigned in his mind was simple enough- what had she seen to make her like this? What on Earth could have shocked Olivia Dunham, the hard ass, take-no-for-an-answer FBI agent into retreating like a scared, defenseless child?

He sighed, putting the final plate and glass away and turned towards where she sat on her bed and stared out the window. Her shoulders hung low and her head bowed. It tugged at Peter's heart to see her _this_ distraught. Finally mustering the courage he walked slowly across the wooden floors, bottle of wine in hand and knelt behind her. Slowly he wrapped his arms around her and placed his chin on the curve of her shoulder. Peaking over he pressed his lips to her skin and sighed, seeing the object she stared at.

It was a worn, brazen Metal of Honor, and one Olivia hung proudly by her bedside. Peter knew the history of that tiny piece of metal- it belonged to her father. A well-known General in the United States Army, he was killed when Olivia was six years old. She received it before he died, as a reminder to her that a small amount of bravery and a minute speck of courage and she could change the world. She displayed it proudly, and carried it during her two tours across seas.

"I used to believe that my father was a hero," she finally whispered, her fingers tracing the sharp outline of the faded star, "And I wanted to be just like him. I used to believe that a man who would leave his family, his home, his _country_ to fight for our beliefs was a man worth celebrating. I wanted to make that difference, to… to be able to know that I had a small hand in making this world a better place. But this," she shuttered, "This isn't what I had in mind- to end one world to save another, to take the lives of innocent people; of men, women, _children_," the image of baby Henry flashed across her mind, "This isn't the kind of hero I wanted to be, Peter; the kind that would spill the blood of one innocent human to save another. We're no different from the terrorist organizations we try and protect our country from," she breathed, tears streaking down her face. "We're exactly the same."

Dragging his warm lips along the crevice of her neck, speckling her neck with light, peppered kisses he spoke softly. "No, you're not. If you were the same you wouldn't be on the mission you are now. To err is human, Olivia, but to forgive is divine. Despite what they did to you, what they threatened to do to our home, our families, our _universe_, you still find it fit to make sure they have the better outcome in all of this. It's something I admire about you; it's something I've _always_ admired about you. Heroes aren't created, they aren't molded by military training- they are born. What you've set out to do, to help those who cannot help themselves is beyond heroic; it's simply angelic; to look past your anger, to see between the differences our sides have and be willing to aide them- that's what makes a hero, Liv."

Pressing her lips together Olivia sighed and let her shoulders shrink into his chest. "I've seen war, Peter, and this…" she huffed, "this is _beyond_ war. What we did to those people, those _innocent_, innocent people… it was genocide. You remember the cab driver, Henry?" Peter nodded into her shoulder. "I saw him yesterday with his daughter." She paused, "And I was too scared to say hello." Drawing a knee up to her chest and wiped a line of tears from her cheeks. "That's sad, isn't it?"

"No, that's normal, Liv." He responded. Peter knew what would come next. The irrational thinking, the typical phrases she'd use to put herself down and get herself worked up. Reaching behind them he grabbed the two glasses of wine he felt her suddenly jolt up as he handed her a glass.

"What was I supposed to say? '_Long time to see? Sorry for destroying your world, how have you been?_" Sipping the drink she sat down in the chair next to the night stand. "I couldn't say anything- not a _thing_."

Peter couldn't help but chuckle. "Olivia, you had just discovered the world that kidnapped you had been through hell, I don't think a simple _'hello, how are you?'_ would have been proper." Reaching across the small crevice between them he pulled her back into his arms. Peter grinned, "Things aren't that simple. You know that as well as I do, but give it time. I'm sure Henry would be happy to see you."

She huffed, swallowing another mouthful. "Sure, I'm glad he'd love to see the girl who helped destroy his world."

"Sure, now wouldn't be the most opportune time, but I'm sure later on once you start this project everything will be fine. I don't look at this as the glass half empty," he said, pouring her another beverage, "more like the glass half full."

"How come you aren't as upset over all of this?"

"Three reasons," he said, pouring her another glass, "One, I've had almost a bottle of wine to myself tonight while you were wallowing in self-loathing. Two, because I know what no matter the cost we're going to fix this. With help from all those resources that we haven't pissed off in the last four years, I know we're going to fix it."

Finishing her glass in two swigs, she grinned, "What's the third reason?"

Peter couldn't help but smile. "You, Olivia, because once you set your heart to something you don't stop until it's complete. It's because of you that I know this is going to work. I still stand by what I said to you all those years ago. I have never seen anyone who can do the things you do, Liv, and I'll be right beside you every step of the way."

"You really think we can do this," she asked quietly, staring into the small pool of wine at the bottom of her glass. "You think we can help repair the damage?"

He nodded. "Quite frankly I don't see how we can ignore this, and given your demeanor when you came home," he paused, "I think it's the right thing to do, and whatever happens, no matter how horrid it may be, I'll stand by you." Closing his hands around hers, he smiled, "I'm in this for the long run, Olivia."

Pressing her lips together she reciprocated his smile. He placed the empty glasses on the bedside table and turned back toward her. Peeling the sheets away from the corners he pulled them up, allowing her to easily slip beneath the soft cotton. After closing the lights to her apartment he returned, slipping into bed next to her. She must have been more exhausted then she appeared, he mused, for the moment her head hit the pillow Olivia was sound asleep beside him.

Peter couldn't help but smile at the tranquility that floated over her cheeks, and the softness of her closed eyes. He paused for a moment and just watched her sleep. The equality of her breathing, the spray of her hair, the way the light bounced off her lashes had always amazed Peter. It was a sheer mystery of how something as beautiful as her could be so tormented. But he would stand by what he said. He had become too involved to let her slip away, to let everything he had worked for become something of the past. He had been good at that before meeting her.

It wasn't long until he too, was fast asleep.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 6 coming soon! <em>


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